EMMETT  LAWLER 


BY 

JIM   TULLY 


HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK 


COPYRIGHT,    1922,   BY 
HARCOURT,    BRACE  AND   COMPANY,    INC. 


PRINTED    IN   THE    U.  S.  A.  BY 

THE    QUINN    a    BODCN    COMPANY 
RAHWAY.    N      J. 


PS  3f  39 
HW 

1922 


DEDICATION 

To  all  those  with  whom  I  have  shared  hunger  and  cold,  and 
the  loneliness  that  gnaws  and  gnaws.     To  the  women, 
now  nameless,  who  made  loud  carousal,  and  silent 
leave-taking.     To  the  pugilists,  who  battered 
my  features,  and  took  defeat,  or  victory,  in 
silence,  like  Men.     To  the  good  people 
with  ideals,  that  perished  at  per 
sonal  contact.   And  to  all  read 
ers  of  life  who  arrive  at  a 
page  of  wisdom  when 
the  book  is  about  to 
be  closed. 


5002^3 


CONTENTS 


SAGE 


THE  FIRST  EPISODE 3 

THE  FUNERAL 9 

THE  ORPHANAGE 12 

A  NEW  LIFE 31 

Two  FRIENDS 43 

CHANGING  FORTUNES 60 

EVENTS 68 

THE  LAND  OF  His  FATHERS 89 

THE  CHAIN  FACTORY 96 

RUTH  EMORY 104 

SLIM  EDDIE 109 

A  COUNTRY  DRIVE 116 

LIMA 128 

A  ROSE  FADES 131 

THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON 133 

MILES  AWAY 145 

CIRCUS  DAYS 155 

CHICAGO 167 

VIVIAN 170 

A  COLD  JOURNEY 180 

AN  EX-CONVICT  TELLS  A  STORY      ....  189 

SNOW  BOUND 194 

NEW  YORK 200 

EMMETT  TESTIFIES       .       .  205 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  CONDUCTOR 212 

HYPOCRISY  VANQUISHED 215 

HYPOCRISY  REWARDED 224 

TROUBLE 229 

INCIDENTS  REMEMBERED 237 

A  MAN  DIES 243 

EMMETT  WANDERS  SOUTH 246 

A  HOBO  CAMP 252 

PRISON  AND  WORSE 258 

A  HOBO  FIGHT 266 

THE  LURE  OF  HOME 273 

BATTLE  GALORE     .       .        .       .       .       .       .       .  278 

EMMETT  TURNS  POET 283 

A  SNAG  THAT  TORE 287 

EMMETT  MAKES  A  Vow 299 

THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE 303 

Two  FRIENDS  MEET  314 


EMMETT  LAWLER 

Lord,  give  to  men  who  are  old  and  rougher, 
The  things  that  little  children  suffer, 
And  let  keep  bright  and  undented, 
The  young  years  of  a  little  child. 

— MASEFIELD. 

THE  FIRST  EPISODE 

THE  child  had  arrived  a  month  too  soon.  The  doctor  had 
arrived  an  hour  too  late.  Emmett  Lawler  was  six  years 
old  when  this  episode  occurred.  There  was  a  commotion 
in  a  log  cabin  home  in  Ohio.  During  the  first  hour  of 
the  first  of  May  his  another  had  closed  her  eyes  upon  a 
world  from  which  the  fairies  of  her  girlhood  had  long 
since  vanished.  It  had  been  her  strength  that  kept  the 
family  ship  from  sinking  in  the  sea  of  life. 

Students  of  genealogy  should  pause  here  just  a  moment. 
Here  was  a  dead  eagle,  born  for  the  mountains,  whose 
clipped  wings  had  forced  her  to  walk  the  mud  roads  of 
Ohio.  From  somewhere  out  of  the  long  ago  she  had  in 
herited  a  beautiful  emotional  nature.  She  had  but  scant 
education,  and  though  her  mind  was  powerful,  it  was  ever 
and  always  a  dreaming  mind.  In  the  midst  of  heart 
breaking  realities  she  lived  in  a  dream  world  of  which 
John  Keats  was  king. 

3 


4  v :  { " •" " :  EMM'T  LAWLER 

*       J     *  *  '  §••*••'«*„«  r*, 

She  lay  now,  as  a  worn-out  woman  when  all  the  house 
is  still.  There  was  a  haunting  beauty  about  her  face. 
Her  cheeks,  which  all  the  ills  of  life  had  not  robbed  of 
their  color,  were  now  the  shade  of  pink  sea  shells.  Her 
eyes  were  partly  open,  as  if  she  wanted  to  look  once  more 
at  her  ship-wrecked  children.  Her  hair  had  been  the 
pride  of  the  countryside.  It  reached  far  below  her  knees ; 
so  long  it  was.  It  was  now  brushed  back  from  her  high, 
white  forehead.  By  the  light  of  the  kerosene  lamp,  the 
clustering  ringlets  looked  like  a  mass  of  dull  red  rubies. 
The  valiant  woman  had  given  her  life  to  usher  into  the 
world — a  little  dead  baby. 

She  had  never  believed  that  poor  people  should  bring 
large  families  into  the  world.  And  now,  like  many  a  sol 
dier,  with  face  upturned  to  the  sky,  she  had  given  her  life 
in  a  battle  the  idea  of  which  she  felt  was  wrong. 

Her  husband,  however,  felt  that  God  tempers  the  wind 
to  the  shorn  lamb.  He  was  quite  unmindful  of  the  fact 
that  if  the  lamb  had  not  been  shorn  there  would  have 
been  no  need  of  tempering  the  wind.  But  that  was  all 
over  now.  The  dreary  rain  fell  steadily  on  the  roof  and 
windows  of  the  cabin. 

Seven  vines  which  had  clung  to  the  oak  had  been  broken 
by  its  fall.  Her  husband  and  six  children  now  gazed  in 
utter  desolation  at  the  woman  of  the  great  heart  who 
had  made  the  break  for  freedom. 

When  Emmett  was  christened  there  was  some  hesita 
tion  about  who  should  name  him.  His  father,  who  had 
never  before  bothered  about  names  for  his  children,  now 
insisted  that  the  boy  be  named  after  him.  His  mother 


THE  FIRST  EPISODE  5 

reluctantly  consented.  But  in  her  heart  she  called  him 
her  dream  name.  So  he  bears  that  name  in  this  biography. 

Mrs.  Lawler  had  always  had  a  passionate  attachment 
for  a  wandering  brother.  This  man  was  a  direct  descend 
ant  of  the  Vikings  who  had  ravaged  the  coast  of  Ireland 
a  thousand  years  ago.  When  the  craze  for  drink  was  not 
upon  him,  and  when  the  wanderlust  had  been  temporarily 
lulled  to  sleep,  he  was  the  most  charming  of  men.  He 
was  over  six  feet  tall,  and  his  shoulders  were  so  heavy 
and  broad  that  they  seemed  to  droop  from  their  own 
weight.  He  had  read  widely  and  well.  He  had  stolen 
poetry  from  every  nook  and  cranny  of  life.  It  was  said 
by  Irishmen,  who  were  ever  keen  judges  of  fighters,  that 
he  could  tear  a  bull-dog  to  pieces.  He  had  once  been 
locked  in  a  saloon  with  six  men.  It  was  to  be  a  battle  to 
a  finish.  A  short  time  after,  great  fists  crashed  through 
a  wooden  paneled  door.  A  mighty  demon  of  a  man 
walked  out.  His  clothing  hung  in  shreds  about  his  huge 
body.  The  six  men  lay  prostrate  upon  the  floor,  tables 
and  the  bar  had  been  turned  over,  and  the  debris  of  wreck 
age  was  everywhere.  His  presence  had  emptied  the 
village  street.  An  iron  lamp  post  stood  near  him.  He 
vented  his  rage  by  bending  it  to  the  ground. 

And  then — Emmett's  mother  appeared.  When  he  saw 
her  the  wild  giant  became  tame  as  a  child.  He  clasped 
little  Enimett  to  his  hairy,  naked  breast  with  one  arm, 
while  with  the  other  he  held  the  mother  tenderly.  To 
gether  they  walked  to  a  decrepit  buggy,  to  which  an  old 
horse  was  hitched.  The  horse  turned  its  head  and  neighed 
in  sheer  gladness  at  the  giant's  approach. 


6  EMMETT  LAWLER 

This  man  disappeared  soon  after  the  incident  recorded. 
Emmett  stood  at  his  mother's  side,  while  between  sobs, 
she  waved  at  the  great  adventurer  as  he  walked  down  the 
road.  He  was  never  seen  nor  heard  of  afterward.  And 
now,  Emmett  Lawler  will  carry  his  name  through  this 
story. 

Emmett's  father  had  never  been  a  strong  character 
though  his  heart  had  been  kind.  He  had  always  wished 
to  carry  the  burdens  of  a  world  when  his  shoulders  had 
been  unfitted  to  carry  the  burdens  of  a  household.  In 
justice  to  him,  however,  he  had  been  an  Irish  wit.  Rum- 
sellers  had  laughed  gaily  at  his  stories  so  long  as  his 
money  lasted.  But  now,  the  Irish  wit  was  as  solemn  as 
a  churchyard  owl.  His  long,  red  mustache  had  a  woeful 
droop  to  it.  He  looked  as  dreary  as  a  burned-out  fire. 
Like  a  man  before  whom  chaos  had  opened,  he  was 
stunned  and  could  utter  no  word.  He  was  a  battered  hulk 
of  a  man,  but  still,  there  were  those  who  loved  him.  The 
dead  woman  had  been  one  of  these.  Perhaps  he  had  been 
a  compromise  with  her  dream  of  the  man  who  never  came. 
Only  the  Balzacs  and  Hardys  can  read  a  woman's  heart. 
And  they  dwell  not  along  country  roads  in  Ohio. 

Relatives  had  been  slow  in  coming  from  the  bleak, 
muddy  countryside.  Grief  made  all  hearts  numb,  and 
those  who  did  come  were  as  helpless  as  the  husband  and 
children.  Suddenly  the  strength  of  the  mother  seemed  to 
pass  to  the  twelve-year-old  daughter.  She  grasped  her 
father  by  the  arm  and  exclaimed  passionately,  "Brace 
up,  Dad, — Mother's  forever  through  waiting  for  the 


THE  FIRST  EPISODE  7 

saloons  to  close."  The  father  obeyed  her  command  as 
though  he  were  the  twelve-year-old  child. 

As  Virginia  Lawler  opened  the  door  to  allow  the  doc 
tor  to  pass  out,  the  falling  rain  beat  a  weird  tattoo  upon 
an  old  piano  box  in  which  a  family  dog  and  cat  were 
sound  asleep.  Emmett  cried  for  the  dog,  and  Virginia 
carried  him  out  into  the  peltering  rain. 

The  old  dog  awoke  from  his  slumber,  and  leaned  his 
shaggy  form  against  Emmett.  The  cat,  as  is  the  way  of 
cats,  slept  soundly,  and  was  not  to  be  disturbed  by  emo 
tions  which  children  and  dogs  show  for  each  other. 
When  Virginia  wished  to  bring  Emmett  away  from  the 
dog,  the  child  cried  so  loud  that  he  could  be  heard  in  the 
far  woods.  So  dog  and  child  were  brought  into  the 
wretched  room,  and  stood  near  each  other  in  pathetic 
awe  by  the  flickering  light  of  the  kerosene  lamp. 

The  old  dog  looked  across  the  room  and  saw  his  friend 
lying  upon  the  bed.  He  approached  the  bed  reverently. 
He  stood  near  it,  and  then  looked  about  the  room  in  a 
mute  appeal.  He  then  returned  to  Emmett. 

A  late  April  wind  now  began  to  roar  in  May.  It 
moaned  through  the  open  spaces  between  the  logs,  where 
plaster  once  had  been  used  to  keep  out  the  elements. 

A  lithograph  picture  of  King  Herod  was  tacked  to  the 
wall.  He  brandished  a  gigantic  sword  above  little  in 
fants,  who  knelt  and  lay  in  profusion  at  his  feet.  One 
infant  held  its  arms  in  the  air,  as  if  in  a  last  appeal  for 
mercy.  For  years  afterward  Emmett  connected  Herod 
with  the  death  of  his  mother. 


8  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Coins  were  wanted  to  lay  upon  the  dead  woman's  eyes. 
Her  husband  gave  two  silver  dollars  for  the  purpose. 
The  silver  pieces  had  been  loaned  to  him  by  his  wife's 
brother,  for  another  purpose.  The  thoughtless  act,  which 
in  itself  meant  nothing,  resulted  in  the  brother-in-law 
not  speaking  to  the  husband  for  twenty-five  years. 


THE  FUNERAL 

THE  children  did  not  have  clothes  considered  fit  to 
wear  on  the  last  journey  they  would  ever  take  with  their 
mother.  So  the  lid  was  clamped  over  the  dead  piece 
of  beautiful  clay,  with  its  auburn  hair  lying  in  simple 
folds  about  it.  Emmett, — always  a  head-strong  child, 
fought  like  a  little  tiger  to  lie  in  his  mother's  arms.  But 
this  last  caress  was  denied  him.  In  fact,  Emmett  was 
not  to  know  the  boon  of  any  woman's  arms  for  many  a 
long,  long  year  to  come. 

The  Gods  of  Thunder  Mountain  may  be  fit  to  rule  the 
thunder.  Perhaps  they  know  why  it  is  best  to  make 
a  sensitive  child  writhe  under  the  agony  of  bitter  loss. 

But  that  is  not  in  Emmett's  story. 

That  youngster  scratched  and  beat  his  way  out  of  his 
father's  arms.  He  dashed  between  the  legs  of  the  country 
undertaker.  But  the  coffin  was  carried  to  the  road  with 
out  him.  The  old  dog  walked  up  to  Emmett,  as  if  to 
console  him.  It  remained  near  him.  The  elder  mourners 
were  quickly  on  their  way. 

Down  the  winding  road  which  the  mighty  brother  had 
walked  into  the  unknown,  the  sister  was  now  to  journey 
also. 

Emmett  and  the  dog  ran  pell-mell  after  the  hearse. 
They  were  followed  by  the  other  children.  An  old 

9 


io  EMMETT  LAWLER 

woman,  unable  to  stop  them,  lagged  slowly  behind.  At 
last,  they  could  go  no  further.  Exhausted,  they  stood 
in  the  mud  and  wept.  The  dog  went  on,  and  appeared 
at  the  churchyard,  where  he  watched  the  earth  close  over 
his  mistress. 

As  the  children  stood  weeping,  the  funeral  cortege 
faded  into  the  landscape.  The  aged  woman  now  reached 
the  children  and  led  them  back  to  their  empty  home. 

Later  in  the  day  an  uncle  told  the  children  that  the 
pastor  had  said  that  their  mother's  life  had  been  like  a 
white  rose — beautiful  and  pure.  Emmett  still  thinks  of 
his  mother  when  he  sees  a  white  rose. 

Emmett's  relatives  were  mutually  agreed  that  an  Or 
phan's  Home  was  the  proper  place  for  orphan  children. 
Among  other  things  they  felt  that  only  at  an  Orphanage 
could  the  children  be  given  the  proper  religious  training. 

They  deluded  themselves  in  order  to  conceal  selfish 
reasons,  as  people  have  ever  deluded  themselves  from  the 
day  they  crept  from  blunt  animalism  to  relentless  civiliza 
tion.  Emmett  still  remembers  such  phrases  as,  "Ah, 
Blissed  Mither  of  God,  it's  a  Hessin'  in  disguise."  "Ay, 
and  the  childer  can  now  be  eddicated."  Another  phrase 
Emmett  heard  often  was,  "Indade,  God  knows  best." 

So  worked  up  were  the  relatives  over  the  momentous 
question  that  they  consulted  the  village  pastor.  He  told 
them  that  a  panic  was  sweeping  over  the  land  and  the 
Homes  were  overcrowded.  A  compromise  was  reached, 
and  three  children  were  chosen  to  represent  Poverty  at 
the  Orphanage. 

The  good  pastor  had  always  loved  Emmett's  mother. 


THE  FUNERAL  n 

He  too  was  a  dreamer.  The  fairies  had  carried  all  the 
dreams  from  Ireland  and  had  laid  them  at  his  feet.  He 
had  shared  dreams  and  books  with  the  woman  whose  life 
he  had  likened  to  a  white  rose. 

A  sale  was  held  at  the  tumble-down  home.  Coarse 
people  bought  the  dead  woman's  dearest  possessions  as 
though  they  had  been  stacks  of  cheese. 

Mrs.  Lawler  had  owned  and  driven  a  faithful  old 
horse.  The  children  heard  with  alarm  that  old  Pokey 
was  to  be  sold.  They,  who  were  not  to  have  a  home  for 
many  years,  tried  to  keep  a  home  for  the  horse.  A  con 
sultation  was  held  among  them.  They  decided  to  fight 
against  its  sale. 

The  horse  now  stood,  with  its  sad  old  eyes  looking  out 
of  a  dilapidated  barn  door  upon  the  children  it  had  known 
all  its  life.  Had  he  not  taken  them  to  their  christenings, 
to  all  the  neighborhood  around  ?  Had  not  he  and  the  dog 
been  so  long  together  that  their  actions  were  alike  ? 

The  horse  was  led  to  the  auction  block.  A  farmer 
bought  him  for  twenty  dollars.  The  old  dog  barked,  the 
children  cried.  The  horse  looked  about  the  barnyard  for 
the  last  time,  and  was  then  taken  slowly  away. 

Emmett  never  forgot  old  Pokey.  Years  later  he  heard 
that  he  had  died  a  month  after  the  sale. 

From  the  proceeds  of  the  sale  three  cheap  cotton  suits 
were  bought  for  these  Ambassadors  to  the  Empire  of  Beg 
gars.  The  children,  who  had  not  clothes  fit  to  wear  to 
their  own  mother's  funeral,  were  now  dressed  differently. 
Mr.  Lawler  was  a  proud  man.  His  children  would  at 
least  enter  their  new  home  clothed  in  fitting  raiment. 


THE  ORPHANAGE 

JUNE  had  again  donned  her  garment  of  green  and  gold 
The  Civil  War  soldier  who  had  gone  mad  in  Anderson 
ville  Prison,  raving  of  the  green  fields  of  Ohio,  must  hav< 
once  beheld  such  a  morning  as  this.  The  roads  were  dr] 
and  smooth.  Birds  of  many  colors  flew  along  zig-za^ 
rail  fences.  An  old  goose  and  her  many  goslings  showe< 
their  simple  joy  in  being  alive.  The  cooing  of  doves  coulc 
be  heard  at  neighboring  farms.  Their  mournful  sound 
echoed  over  the  quiet  fields.  June  was  like  a  dancing 
girl  carrying  flowers.  It  was  only  in  Emmett's  soul  tha 
there  was  discordant  music. 

An  old  surrey  stood  in  the  road  near  the  Lawler  home 
Yellow  tassels  hung  from  its  lop-sided  top.  Two  age< 
mules  were  hitched  to  it.  And  both  of  them  were  soun< 
asleep. 

Emmett  stood  in  the  yard  and  watched  the  goose  mean 
der  down  the  road  with  her  young.  Virginia  and  the  doj 
were  with  him.  Staunch  old  Shep  was  turning  gray 
He  was  eight  years  old  when  Emmett  was  born.  But  hi 
had  been  a  happy  life.  A  beautiful  woman  had  love< 
him,  likewise  a  warmhearted  girl.  He  had  tramped  ove 
fields  and  woods  with  the  Irish  rover  who  had  wandere< 
to  far  places.  On  winter  nights,  old  Pokey  had  share* 
his  bed  with  him.  But  more  than  all  else,  Shep  had  love* 

12 


THE  ORPHANAGE  13 

Emmett.  He  now  seemed  to  feel  that  tragedy  was  in 
the  air.  And  in  Emmett's  brain  a  boyish  revolt  was  seeth 
ing.  He  clung  to  Shep,  who  almost  pushed  him  over  in 
his  mute  attempt  at  affection. 

Finally  the  rebellion  broke  out  into  a  declaration  of 
principle,  "Virgie,"  he  said,  "I  ain't  goin'  to  leave  old 
Shep  here." 

The  rest  of  the  party  came  out  of  the  cabin.  Their 
many  voices  awoke  the  sleeping  mules.  Not  without 
a  struggle  was  Emmett  torn  from  Shep  and  placed  in  the 
surrey.  The  mules  jogged  slowly  along  the  road  while 
the  broken  little  lad  gazed  through  tears  at  Virginia  and 
Shep  standing  in  the  yard.  They  seemed  to  find  hauling 
orphan  children  to  the  railroad  station  a  pleasant  task. 

Emmett  was  placated,  after  a  fashion,  by  all  the  lies 
which  grown  people  tell  to  children.  The  slow  mules  were 
barely  in  time  to  meet  a  train  almost  as  slow.  With 
asthmatic  puffs  the  train  pulled  into  the  station.  The  fat 
conductor  bustled  about  as  if  he  were  completely  una 
ware  of  the  fact  that  people  in  reality  have  no  place  to  go 
and  an  eternity  in  which  to  arrive.  Emmett's  last  glance 
beheld  the  mules,  almost  asleep  again. 

When  the  train  left  the  station,  Mr.  Lawler  and  his 
three  gifts  to  the  nation  were  aboard  it. 

Five  miles  from  the  station,  Mr.  Lawler  thoughtfully 
pointed  out  to  his  children  the  graveyard  where  their 
mother  lay. 

Emmett  sobbed  wildly  and  tore  at  the  horrid  red 
cushions.  The  people  in  the  third-class  coach  were  very 
kind.  Emmett  has  often  wondered  who  they  were,  and\ 


14  EMMETT  LAWLER 

whither  they  were  bound.  His  head  throbbed  as  though 
many  Lilliputians  were  beating  at  his  skull  with  tiny 
hammers. 

After  long  hours  the  roar  of  the  city  greeted  the  trav 
elers.  And  after  many  inquiries  Mr.  Lawler  found  his 
way  to  the  Orphanage  with  his  children. 

The  Orphange  was  built  in  the  form  of  a  great  red  T. 
It  stood  in  the  center  of  a  tract  of  land  comprising  two 
hundred  acres.  When  Mr.  Lawler  arrived  at  the  front 
entrance  with  his  children  he  delivered  the  letter  he  had 
been  given  by  the  pastor.  Large  black  doors  were 
promptly  opened  and  as  promptly  closed  behind  the  man 
and  his  children.  Mr.  Lawler  was  called  into  another 
room  while  the  children  waited  outside  in  the  hall.  With 
out  so  much  as  a  parting  word,  or  the  touch  of  a  hand, 
Mr.  Lawler  went  away — and  never  returned.  Some  peo 
ple  considered  it  more  humane  to  break  from  children 
suddenly,  and  Mr.  Lawler  seemed  to  be  one  of  these. 
During  the  six  years  that  followed  the  father  was  never 
over  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  Emmett,  but  the 
boy  never  saw  him  nor  received  a  line  from  him  in  all  that 
time. 

The  children  were  then  taken  into  a  room  to  await  the 
arrival  of  the  Elderly  Woman  in  charge.  The  minutes 
dragged  slowly  by  and  the  exhausted  Emmett  lay  upon 
a  wooden  bench  until  sleep  came  down  to  him  like  a 
blessed  benediction.  And  as  he  slept,  he  dreamed  of 
pleasant  things.  .  .  .  He  was  in  the  kitchen  with  his 
mother,  who  was  singing  Irish  folk  songs,  as  she  baked 


THE  ORPHANAGE  15 

cookies.  Emmett  held  a  cookie  in  his  hand.  Far  away 
were  the  sleepy  mules,  and  the  fat  conductor,  and  the  al 
most  endless  ride.  Happier  days  were  again  with  him, 
and  old  Shep  ...  A  hand  was  placed  upon  his  shoulder 
and  he  awoke  to  realities  again. 

The  Elderly  Woman  now  stood  before  Emmett.  The 
child  who  had  fought  to  remain  with  his  dog  was  now 
as  humble  as  a  beaten  thing.  Perhaps  the  Elderly 
Woman  was  kind.  It  is  not  the  intention  here  to  tear  her 
soul  to  shreds.  That  soul  has  found  surcease  these  many 
years. 

She  was  an  aged  woman,  and  for  thirty-five  years  little 
boys  and  girls  had  appeared  before  her  in  just  such  plights 
as  Emmett 's.  This  much  can  be  truthfully  written.  She 
was  the  product  of  an  age  that  had  never  given  the  ques 
tion  of  child  psychology  one  moment's  consideration. 

Men  and  women  died — their  children  must  be  cared  for. 
In  a  helter-skelter  world  she  completely  overlooked  the 
possible  man  and  woman  of  to-morrow.  God  ruled 
everything,  in  her  opinion,  and  she  felt  too  humble  to 
question  His  rule. 

An  Emmett  might  fight  through  everything,  and  like 
a  wounded  tiger,  drink  at  all  the  polluted  wells  of  life. 
His  formative  years  might  color  his  entire  future  outlook, 
so  that  he  could  not  see  the  rose  without  visualizing  the 
thorn.  Such  things  were  not  pressing  problems  to  her. 
For  God  took  care  of  all  that.  Her  immediate  problem 
was  to  even  get  enough  decayed  food  for  her  five  hun 
dred  charges  to  eat.  Her  shortcomings  were  many,  but 


16  EMMETT  LAWLER 

even  so,  the  world  was  better  for  her  long  life.  She  only 
saw  a  gleam  of  the  light,  but  she  followed  that  gleam 
steadily  for  nearly  seventy  years. 

The  Elderly  Woman  scared  Emmett,  and  he  shrank 
from  her.  But  the  touch  of  her  hand  on  his  head  made 
him  quickly  respond.  She  leaned  down,  and  her  face 
was  close  to  him. 

Heavy  wrinkles  ran  in  all  directions  across  her  fore 
head  and  cheeks.  Her  nose  curved  downward,  her  chin 
upward.  But  in  justice  to  her,  the  eyes  had  a  kind  ex 
pression.  Years  later,  after  Emmett  had  observed  eyes 
in  thousands  of  human  heads,  he  still  felt  that  hers  had 
been  different.  They  seemed  to  him  the  eyes  of  an  eagle 
that  had  been  given  a  tame  expression  from  hopelessly 
gazing  through  the  bars  of  a  cage. 

She  placed  her  hand  upon  his  cheek  and  held  his  head 
pressed  close  against  her.  For  that  one  moment  she  was 
the  Eternal  Woman  to  Emmett.  Even  though,  afterward, 
the  boy  was  lost  in  the  crowd  of  hundreds  of  other  chil 
dren  for  her,  he  had  never  forgotten  her  careless  moment 
of  kindness. 

The  Elderly  Woman  talked  quietly  to  the  boys  for  a 
few  moments.  Their  names  were  taken,  and  then  an  at 
tendant  took  them  to  the  clothes  room. 

As  they  walked  through  the  hallway  they  met  other 
women  who  walked  softly  and  swiftly.  A  heavy  quiet 
pervaded  the  building,  while  a  peculiar  odor  permeated  it. 

The  clothing  room  was  in  charge  of  a  woman  with  a 
nature  as  cold  as  a  fish  fresh  from  the  sea.  Her  voice 
was  rasping  and  harsh.  During  six  years  Emmett  does 


THE  ORPHANAGE  17 

not  remember  to  have  seen  her  smile.  She  was  ponder 
ously  heavy,  and  at  least  six  feet  tall.  Her  face  was  dis 
figured  by  large  warts.  Her  eyes  were  small,  and 
gleamed  deep  in  her  head  like  fiery  black  coals.  Her 
head  continually  shook  as  though  she  suffered  from  palsy. 
She  had  what  the  children  used  to  consider  an  annoying 
habit  of  striking  a  vicious  blow  without  warning  when 
she  discovered  torn  clothing. 

The  boys  were  required  to  sew  torn  places  in  their 
own  apparel.  Many  of  them  became  as  adept  with  the 
needle  as  the  girls.  Their  sewing  even  passed  the  inspec 
tion  of  the  giantess  in  charge.  But  they  were  always 
punished  for  having  torn  clothing,  or  losing  buttons. 

Emmett  discarded  his  cotton  suit  and  donned  the  clothes 
of  the  Orphanage.  He  was  then  taken  to  the  playground. 

When  he  arrived  there,  many  small  boys  crowded  about 
him.  They  had  passed  through  the  same  experience  but 
they  did  not  know  the  language  of  sympathy.  One 
chubby  little  lad  pulled  his  long  auburn  curls,  and  said, 
"What's  yore  name?" 

"My  name's  Emmett  Lawler,"  replied  Emmett. 

"Well,  anyhow,  de'll  cut  all  your  hair  to-morrow." 

The  Chubby  Boy  then  took  Emmett  to  see  his  beetle 
nest. 

The  boys  whiled  away  the  long  summer  hours  in  strange 
ways.  Some  had  captured  beetles  which  they  watched 
working  in  the  loose  earth.  Some  captured  flies  and 
placed  them  in  square  houses  modeled  out  of  clay.  The 
flies  entered  through  a  trap  door.  Glass  was  imbedded 
on  each  side  for  windows.  Not  that  the  flies  might  see 


18  EMMETT  LAWLER 

out,  but  that  the  boys  might  see  in.  Emmett  was  thrilled 
to  see  the  beetles  working  industriously  in  the  earth. 
The  boys  became  fond  of  them  in  a  way  that  would  have 
won  the  regard  of  Fabre. 

A  bell  rang.  The  children  ran  to  fall  in  line.  The  line 
•was  formed  according  to  size.  The  Chubby  Lad  was 
about  Emmett's  stature,  so  he  found  his  right  place  in 
the  line  without  any  trouble.  As  the  smallest  boys  led 
the  march,  Emmett  and  his  new- found  comrade  walked 
at  the  head  of  the  army  of  youthful  outcasts  to  the  wash 
room. 

Brass  faucets  shone  above  the  zinc  covered  trough 
which  ran  entirely  around  this  room.  A  damp,  sickening 
odor  was  in  evidence.  From  the  wash-room  the  boys 
were  taken  to  the  refectory. 

This  room  was  fully  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  long. 
Three  oil-cloth  covered  tables  ran  the  length  of  it.  There 
\vere  no  chairs  or  benches,  so  the  children  ate  their  meals 
standing  up.  The  food  was  scarce  and  nauseating.  Ex 
actly  the  same  portion  was  given  each  youth,  regardless  of 
size  or  age.  There  was  no  second  portion.  The  children 
struggled  with  the  meals,  and  ate  them,  after  a  fashion. 
Poverty  had  been  their  lot,  but  nauseating  food  is  not 
always  connected  with  poverty. 

A  system  of  trading  was  in  vogue  in  the  Orphanage. 
It  had  been  born  during  the  first  year  of  its  existence, 
over  seventy  years  before.  One  woman  had  been  over 
fifty  years  at  the  Home.  She  told  Emmett  many  tales 
about  orphan  boys  who  later  became  successful  men.  The 
idea  of  success  with  the  women  always  seemed  to  be  the 


THE  ORPHANAGE  19 

accumulation  of  money.  The  aged  woman  did  not  tell 
Emmett  of  the  thousands  of  boys  who,  when  they  left  the 
Orphanage,  had  been  crushed  by  the  environment  that 
awaited  them  outside. 

The  system  of  trading  was  elastic,  and  changed  accord 
ing  to  the  laws  of  supply  and  demand.  An  orange  was 
always  worth  two  apples,  unless  at  Christmas  time,  when 
each  boy  was  given  two  oranges.  At  all  seasons  of  the 
year  the  core  of  an  apple  had  a  trading  value. 

As  the  boys  ate  the  white  coating  of  the  orange  peels, 
they  also  had  a  trading  value,  and  the  peels  of  bananas 
were  also  traded. 

A  slice  of  bread  between  meals  was  worth  two  agate 
marbles.  If  a  five-cent  piece  ever  strayed  into  the  hands 
of  a  boy  it  brought  him  all  good  things,  and  attracted 
others  to  him,  as  wealth  does  the  wide  world  over. 

All  money  .was  supposed  to  be  turned  over  to  the 
women  in  charge.  But  the  boys  cheated  the  women 
dreadfully  and  seldom  turned  it  in.  Of  course  they 
seldom  had  any  to  turn  in.  Emmett  saw  a  silver  dollar 
once  in  six  years,  and  when  he  left  the  Home  he  did  not 
know  the  denominations  of  money  between  a  penny  and 
a  dollar.  This  knowledge  would  have  been  superfluous, 
as  he  was  not  called  upon  to  handle  money  for  some  years. 

Emmett  could  lay  no  claim  to  boyish  beauty.  But  tie 
had  inherited  his  mother's  moods,  her  passion  for  dreams 
and  books,  her  keen  sensibilities,  and  her  love  for  music. 

Even  as  a  child  there  were  two  personalities  struggling  ^ 
within  him.    One  was  the  fighting*  strain  which  belonged 
to  his  uncle,  and  the  other  was  the  dreaming  strain  which 


20  EMMETT  LAWLER 

belonged  to  his  mother.  These  two  natures  were  to  fight 
many  a  battle  in  the  future.  Emmett's  heart  and  brain 
were  the  battlefields  upon  which  they  were  to  leave  the 
scars  of  conflict. 

A  chaplain  was  stationed  at  the  Orphanage.  He  func 
tioned  at  services  every  morning  of  the  year.  The  service 
was  held  before  breakfast,  and,  as  usual,  each  child  was 
seated  in  chapel  according  to  size. 

Figures  of  Jesus,  Mary  and  the  saints  were  everywhere 
in  evidence.  The  ceiling  of  the  chapel  was-  painted  to  rep 
resent  the  starry  heavens.  Figures  of  angels  flew  among 
the  stars.  During  six  years  Emmett  never  tired  of 
chapel  worship,  not  from  any  deep  sense  of  religious 
feeling,  for  he  was  essentially  a  pagan.  But  the  paintings 
and  statuary,  and'  the  o.dor  of  incense  gave  a  sensuous 
tinge  to  his  thoughts,  and  made  the  chapel  hour  an  oasis 
in  the  drab  desert  of  detail  in  the  home. 

The  children  who  sang  in  the  choir  were  instructed  by  a 
woman  who  had  studied  music.  So  the  chapel  vibrated 
to  the  clear  tones  of  children's  voices  and  musicians  con 
ceded  that  it  was  the  best  in  the  city.  Music  had  been 
the  passion  of  their  teacher's  life,  and  with  it  she  beauti 
fied  an  hour  each  day  in  the  lives  of  these  orphan  children. 

During  the  winter  evenings  the  women  often  told 
stories  as  a  bribery  for  good  behavior.  The  starved 
minds  of  the  children  would  anticipate  the  stories  for 
days  ahead.  One  of  the  women  was  a  combination  of  Poe 
and  Swift.  Her  stories  were  grotesque  and  horrible. 
They  caused  wild  dreams  and  wretched  nights. 

In  one  story  a  pagan  had  been  struck  by  lightning  be- 


THE  ORPHANAGE  21 

cause  he  had  defied  God.  With  these  women  God  was 
not  only  up  in  his  heaven,  but  he  scattered  vengeance  like 
rain. 

A  man  of  all  work  once  became  offended  at  a  boy  for 
a  trivial  offense.  He  came  into  the  refectory  during  the 
lunch  hour  and  grasped  the  boy  by  the  neck  and  hurled 
him  to  the  floor.  He  pinned  him  there  and  beat  him  un 
mercifully.  When  he  had  vented  his  rage  the  boy's  eyes 
were  completely  closed.  His  face  was  swollen  to  twice  its 
normal  size,  and  was  black  and  blue  and  hideous. 

The  other  boys  were  in  a  panic,  and  they  crowded  about 
the  old  woman  in  charge  in  an  effort  to  have  her  stop  the 
strong  man.  Two  boys  tried  to  grasp  the  man's  arms  as 
he  flailed  the  helpless  boy,  and  were  themselves  thrown 
to  the  floor. 

The  beaten  boy  groped  his  way  about  for  several  days, 
an  object  of  pity. 

Upon  another  occasion  one  of  the  boys  was  whipped  in 
an  entirely  different  manner.  It  was  Saturday  afternoon 
arid  the  boys  were  prepared  for  their  weekly  bath,  with  a 
towel  tied  about  their  loins. 

The  boy  had  been  struck  across  the  $alms  of  the  hands 
with  a  raw-hide  whip.  He  had  returned  to  his  seat  hold 
ing  his  burning  hands  beneath  his  armpits.  A  tale-bearer 
seated  next  to  him  heard. him  call  the  woman  a  name 
under  his  breath.  When  she  had  been  told  what  he  had 
said  she  became  fury  incarnate.  She  came  quickly 
toward  the  boy  with  the  whip  poised  in  air".  In  the  boy's 
effort  to  escape  the  lash  of  the  whip  the  towel  dropped 
from  his  body.  Benches  were  toppled  over  as  the  pain- 


22  EMMETT  LAWLER 

maddened  child  dashed  about  the  room.  Never  was  an 
African  slave  whipped  more  terribly.  The  whip  wound 
its  vicious  length  about  his  body  and  made  a  noise  each 
time  like  the  hiss  of  a  snake.  Black  and  blue  marks  en 
circled  his  white  body.  He  moaned  piteously.  The  re 
ligious  woman's  vengeance  was  not  yet  appeased.  He 
was  made  to  kneel  in  chapel  until  noon  the  next  day. 
There  was  a  seething  rebellion  among  the  more  deter 
mined  boys  over  this  incident.  They  prevailed  upon  the 
whipped  boy  to  show  his  body  to  the  chaplain.  To  un 
derstand  courage  one  should  know  the  danger  involved. 
Luther  never  displayed  more  courage  in  a  larger  way  than 
did  the  boy  who  faced  the  chaplain.  The  pastor  was  a 
kind,  gentle  man.  He  possibly  felt  that  he  was  but  one 
man  in  an  Empire  of  Women.  He  soothed  the  boy's 
broken  spirit — that  was  all. 

A  system  of  spying  prevailed  in  the  Orphanage.  The 
word  of  the  spy,  or  snitch,  was  always  taken. 

One  woman  devised  a  new  plan  of  punishing  offenders 
in  order  to  save  herself  the  trouble  of  whipping  boys  at 
all  hours ;  she  brought  efficiency  to  her  aid. 

When  she  heard  of  an  offense  she  wrote  down  the  name 
of  the  offender.  She  would  stand  before  the  boys  of  her 
department  each  night  before  bed-time  and  hold  the  list 
of  the  proscribed  in  her  hand.  In  her  other  hand  she 
held  a  raw-hide  whip.  The  boys  never  knew  whether  or 
not  their  names  were  to  be  called.  If  the  name  was  not 
called  the  suspense  and  worry  for  fear  that  it  would  be 
v  >. — was  a  punishment  in  itself.  The  raw-hide  whip  across 
the  hands  was  the  punishment.  The  lads  used  every 


THE  ORPHANAGE  23 

method  possible  to  harden  the  hands.  Some  rubbed  them 
into  the  earth,  others  upon  rusty  pipes.  But  always,  the 
whip  stung  like  the  pricking  of  a  thousand  small  needles, 
or  like  the  effect  produced  by  the  slow  grasping  of  a  nettle 
— very  much  magnified.  This  form  of  Spanish  Inqui 
sition  was  practised  by  the  woman  during  all  of  Emmett's 
years  in  her  charge.  It  was  subtly  demoralizing  to  the 
peace  of  mind  and  heart  of  the  child  during  the  whole  day. 
Throughout  the  day  youngsters  would  stop  in  their  play 
and  wonder  if  their  names  would  be  on  the  "list"  that 
night.  Emmett  learned  to  hate  the  scvund  of  his  own 
name,  Lawler,  and  to  this  day,  if  his  name  is  suddenly 
called,  it  makes  him  feel  uneasy.  Spite  and  hate  might 
have  actuated  the  tale-bearer — for  boys  of  that  type  were 
always-  sneaks — but  nevertheless  the  whipping  always 
.  came  as  the  sun  went  down. 

Another  woman  became  the  originator  of  another  form 
of  punishment.  If  an  offense  had  been  committed  and 
the  name  of  the  offender  were  not  known  she  would 
promptly  call  all  the  boys  in  her  department  and  make 
them  sit  in  silence  with  folded  arms  until  some  boy  con 
fessed.  This  system  did  not  help  in  the  least,  as  the  guilty 
boy  would  have  more  cause  for  sitting  quiet  than  those 
who  were  innocent.  To  counteract  it  the  stronger  boys 
devised  a  method  of  confessing  in  rotation.  If  the  guilty 
boy  was  found  out  later  the  others  meted  out  swift 
punishment. 

The  system  did  not  work  on  one  historic  occasion.  A 
snowball  crashed  against  a  woman  teacher's  ear,  and  so 
hard  it  was  that  it  adhered  together  even  after  it  had 


24  EMMETT  LAWLER 

struck  her.  All  the  boys  were  called  to  the  room — but 
their  courage  left  them  at  the  thought  of  the  horror  of  the 
punishment  which  might  be  measured  out  to  the  one  who 
had  hit  a  defenseless  woman  in  broad  daylight.  The  boy 
who  threw  that  snowball  will  carry  the  secret  with  him 
to  the  other  world.  His  companions  took  the  punishment 
like  stoics,  as  they  seemed  to  realize  that  there  are  some 
things  beyond  confession. 

Boys  were  chosen  every  three  months  to  do  the  menial 
work  of  the  Home.  Work  in  the  dining  room,  for  obvi 
ous  reasons,  was  always  sought  after.  Political  rings 
were  formed  in  order  to  obtain  the  work  preferred,  Once 
a  boy  secured  a  place  he  was  asked  to  take  care  of  other 
boys  who  had  helped  him  secure  it. 

The  girls  who  waited  upon  the  women  and  the  pastor 
in  charge  were  forced  to  walk  through  the  boys'  dining 
room  with  the  victuals.  The  boys  used  to  stop  them  upon 
their  return  to  the  kitchen  and  take  from  them  any  food 
that  had  been  left. 

The  bread  was  kept  in  a  large  box  in  the  corner  of  the 
dining  room.  Small  raiding  parties  were  often  formed 
to  steal  it.  If  the  culprits  were  caught  it  meant  severe 
punishment,  but  the  practice  of  stealing  bread  was  never 
completely  broken.  Once  Emmett  was  caught  red-handed 
with  the  bread  in  his  possession,  and  two  days  in  bed  on  a 
diet  of  bread  and  water  was  the  punishment  given  him. 

After  the  beds  had  been  made  in  the  early  morning  the 
dormitory  became  as  silent  as  a  city  of  the  dead.  Now 
and  then  an  indistinct  footfall  could  be  heard  in  the  hall, 
it  could  be  heard  plainly  at  first  and  then  the  sound  would 


THE  ORPHANAGE  25 

die  away,  as  an  echo  dies  in  the  woods.  The  voices  of 
children  at  play  would  float  up  to  the  lonesome  boy,  and  at 
danger  of  being  kept  in  bed  another  day,  Emmett  would 
sneak  to  the  window  and  watch  them,  far  below. 

Bedbugs  were  a  constant  menace  in  the  Home  and  boys 
were  detailed  to  hunt  for  them  each  Saturday.  When 
caught,  the  insects  were  thrown  into  a  vessel  which  con 
tained  water.  An  aged,  near-sighted  woman  sat  near  the 
vessel  in  order  to  keep  track  of  the  number  of  bugs 
caught  by  each  one.  After  a  boy  caught  a  certain  num 
ber  he  was  allowed  his  freedom.  The  woman's  duty  was 
to  see  that  he  did  not  obtain  his  freedom  by  fraud. 

A  future  inventor  hit  upon  a  scheme  to  beat  this  sys 
tem.  The  wooden  beds  were  painted  a  dull  red,  which 
had  never  properly  dried.  Like  many  things  in  life,  the 
idea  was  so  simple  the  boys  wondered  why  they  had 
not  thought  o'f  it  before.  Elusive  bugs  were  no  longer 
hunted  with  pins  through  every  crack  of  the  beds  and  wall. 
The  boys  manufactured  their  own  hugs.  Each  boy  became 
an  embryo  Rodin.  The  undried  paint  was  scraped  from 
the  lower  portion  of  the  bed  and  deftly  shaped  into  the 
form  of  a  bug.  At  certain  intervals  each  boy  would  ad 
vance  slowly  toward  the  sitting  woman.  She  would  look 
closely  at  the'  imaginary  bug  and  credit  the  boy  with  an 
other  capture.  Alas,  the  paint  became  scarce,  while  the 
bugs  multiplied.  One  of  the  boys,  not  having  seen  a  bug 
for  so  long,  lost  his  perspective,  and  shaped  one  badly. 
The  trick  was  discovered.  But  it  was  a  matter  for  the 
Elderly  Woman  in  charge.  The  boys  spent  three  days  in 
the  beds  which  had  furnished  the  raw  material  for  their 


26  EMMETT  LAWLER 

masterpieces.  A  guard  was  placed  over  them  to  see  that 
they  did  not  talk,  and  they  lay  like  wounded  soldiers 
while  the  hours  crept  slowly  by. 

Bullies  arose  and  fell  with  alarming  regularity  in  the 
Home.  Danny  Regan  was  the  greatest  of  these.  He  was 
a  natural  fighter,  with  courage  galore.  So  great  was  his 
power  that  even  snitchers  were  afraid  of  him.  All  those 
who  had  met  him  in  open  combat  had  been  whipped  badly. 

Regan  had  two  brothers  in  the  Home,  and  Emmett  had 
two.  The  younger  brothers  on  each  side  were  constantly 
fighting.  Tom  Lawler  and  Danny  Regan,  the  two  eldest, 
had  never  fought. 

A  particularly  vicious  fight  between  Emmett  and  the 
youngest  Regan  had  reached  up  to  the  Bully's  throne. 
The  code  had  always  been  that  two  boys  should  stand  up 
and  fight,  with  no  interference,  until  one  or  the  other  gave 
up.  Some  of  the  fights  were  resumed  for  a  week  at  a 
time,  whenever  the  opportunity  presented  itself.  Emmett 
was  holding  his  own  upon  this  occasion  when  the  elder 
Regan  interfered.  When  Tom  Lawler  heard  of  the  in 
terference  he  immediately  arranged  another  fight  between 
the  boys.  They  met  in  a  secluded  spot  far  from  the  eyes 
of  the  women  in  charge.  Boys  reached  the  spot  by  de 
vious  routes. 

Each  boy  had  friends,  and  the  crowd  was  divided  into 
factions.  As  the  two  lads  prepared  for  the  fight,  all 
eyes  were  turned  toward  the  Bully. 

Tom  Lawler  stepped  forward,  and  looking  directly 
at  him  said  that  he  would  fight  any  one  who  interfered. 
The  bully  sneered,  but  said  nothing.  The  boys  were  soon 


THE  ORPHANAGE  27 

hammering  away  at  each  other  not  without  the  slightest 
knowledge  of  the  art  of  self-defense.  Emmett  was  fight 
ing  near  the  bully  when  he  was  struck  a  blow  from  behind. 
Tom  stepped  between  the  little  fighters,  hurled  them  aside 
and  sprang  at  the  bully.  The  boys  looked  on  in  startled 
surprise.  It  was  as  though  a  private  had  attacked  Na 
poleon  in  the  presence  of  the  Old  Guard. 

The  bully,  taken  by  surprise,  fought  viciously,  but 
Tom's  fists  found  their  mark  with  thudding,  well-aimed 
force.  After  retreating  many  yards  the  bully  fell  in  a 
heap  before  the  quiet  lad  who  seemed  unconscious  of  the 
fact  that  he  was  whipping  the  Ruler  of  an  Invisible  Em 
pire.  Without  a  word  the  victor  led  Emmett  away  from 
the  scene  of  the  combat. 

When  Emmett  had  been  about  five  years  at  the  Orphan 
age,  the  Elderly  Woman  started  on  a  long  journey.  The 
•children  were  assembled  in  chapel  in  order  to  pray  for 
the  peace  of  her  soul.  Her  heart  beat  slower  and  slower 
and  the  boys  prayed  faster  and  faster.  Indeed,  they 
prayed  like  parrots  anxious  to  leave  the  cage.  Prayers 
did  not  avail.  The  White  Horse  of  death  was  anxious  to 
be  gone.  The  boys  had  been  about  two  hours  in  chapel 
when  the  news  of  her  death  finally  came.  There  was  no 
weeping,  as  there  had  been  no  love  or  understanding  on 
either  side.  But  Emmett's  eyes  blurred  slightly.  He  saw 
an  old  woman  place  a  wrinkled  hand  upon  the  auburn 
curls  of  a  little  boy.  The  crumb  of  bread  which  she  had 
cast  upon  the  water  had  come  back  to  her  when  her  heart 
had  ceased  to  beat. 

Emmett  became  an  adept  at  reading  aloud  and  would 


28  EMMETT  LAWLER 

often  read  to  the  women  while  they  knitted  or  sewed,  or 
peeled  potatoes  in  a  circle  about  him.  When  he  came  to  a 
word  which  was  hard  to  pronounce,  he  would  hesitate 
until  one  of  them  pronounced  it  for  him.  He  learned 
from  the  women  how  to  modulate  his  voice  and  to  enunci 
ate  words  correctly. 

The  six  years  had  ended  at  last,  and  the  Day  of  Days 
had  arrived  for  Emmett.  A  farmer  came  to  the  Orphan 
age  and  asked  for  a  boy  to  "raise." 

Farmers,  as  a  rule,  do  not  wish  to  raise  orphan  boys. 
They  want  one  to  slave  from  daylight  till  dark,  and  take 
the  place  of  hired  men.  But  Emmett  was  oblivious  of 
all  this.  In  his  mind  he  pictured  the  happy  existence  on 
the  farm,  which  only  people  living  in  comfortable  homes 
in  the  city  enjoy. 

Emmett  was  told  that  he  was  to  receive  a  horse  and 
buggy  when  he  became  twenty-one  years  of  age.  That 
was  only  nine  years  in  the  future,  and  all  the  boys  envied 
him. 

Emmett  had  been  given  a  new  suit  to  wear  on  Sundays. 
His  heart  swelled  with  pride  over  it.  He  thought  how 
nice  he  would  look  on  the  journey  from  the  Orphanage. 
As  it  was  Sunday,  he  was  wearing  the  suit.  But  he 
reckoned  without  the  giantess  in  charge  of  the  clothing 
room.  She  sent  for  him — and  when  he  arrived  he  was 
told  to  discard  his  new  suit  and  put  on  one  more  in  keep 
ing  with  the  backwoods,  whither  he  was  bound. 

There  were  touching  farewells.  For  Emmett  had  spent 
every  hour  of  every  day  during  six  long  years  with  many 


THE  ORPHANAGE  29 

of  the  orphans.  It  had  long  seemed  as  though  they  had 
always  been  together  and  would  never  separate. 

It  was  rumored  about  that  unless  homes  were  found 
speedily  for  some  of  the  boys,  they  were  to  be  sent  to  a 
Reform  School.  It  seerned  to  be  considered  a  crime  to 
have  remained  at  the  Orphanage  too  long.  Reform 
Schools  were  not  pleasant  places,  and  the  fear  of  it 
weighed  heavily  upon  them. 

When  all  was  ready  the  farmer  and  his  semi-adopted 
son  started  the  half-mile  journey  to  the  big  gate  through 
which  all  must  pass  to  reach  the  outside  world.  With 
his  heart  as  light  as  a  feather  Emmett  faced  the  unknown 
years. 

Emmett's  comrades  waved  at  him  until  weeping  willows 
near  a  spring  hid  them  from  view. 

As  they  neared  the  big  gate  they  met  one  of  the  younger 
teachers  who  was  returning  to  the  Orphanage  from  the 
city.  She  had  been  in  charge  of  Emmett's  department  for 
two  months  during  the  absence  of  the  regular  teacher. 
During  that  time  she  had  procured  books  by  Dickens  and 
Goldsmith,  which  the  boy  had  eagerly  read.  She  was  at 
the  very  dawn  of  young  womanhood  and  she  seemed  like 
an  elder  sister  to  Emmett. 

When  she  learned  that  he  was  going  away  she  told 
him  much  about  the  dangers  of  a  world,  of  which  she 
knew  little  more  than  he  did.  Emmett  was  facing  no 
immediate  danger  on  the  farm  where  he  was  bound,  unless 
a  cow  should  step  on  him,  but  she  was  unaware  of  that. 
Oblivious  of  the  waiting  farmer  the  two  talked  as  if  they 
were  a  long  separated  brother  and  sister.  And  then — as 


30  EMMETT  LAWLER 

they  parted,  the  young  woman  impulsively  caressed  the 
unloved  boy.  At  the  touch  of  her  soft  white  hands  the 
long  years  of  agony  were  forgotten.  In  an  unconscious 
moment  she  raised  all  womanhood  to  a  pinnacle  from 
which  a  thousand  lesser  women  were  unable  to  drag  it, 
during  all  the  weary  years,  which  for  Emmett  stretched 
their  dismal  length  ahead.  He  clung  to  her  for  a  moment 
— and  cried. 

The  farmer  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him  away.  As 
they  neared  the  big  gate  Emmett  turned  and  waved  at  the 
young  woman  before  the  trees  near  the  spring  hid  her 
from  view. 

Thus  two  book  lovers  bade  farewell  forever. 


A  NEW  LIFE 

WITH  many  varied  impressions  Emmett  left  the  large 
city.  He  vaguely  recalled  the  fat  conductor  of  six  years 
before. 

It  was  June  again,  and  the  hills  and  dales  of  southern 
Ohio  resembled  Corot  landscapes,  past  which  the  train 
rolled.  Emmett  was  completely  fascinated.  The  stolid 
farmer  beside  him  was  unaware  that  he  had  chosen  a 
boy  who  did  not  always  live  in  the  same  world  with  him. 

It  was  late  at  night  when  the  train  reached  the  county 
seat,  forty  miles  north  of  Emmett's  birthplace.  The  boy 
was  hungry,  but  the  farmer  postponed  eating  until  the 
next  morning. 

He  went  directly  to  a  livery  stable  where  his  team  and 
surrey  awaited  him.  The  team  hitched,  man  and  boy 
made  for  the  open  country.  During  the  entire  journey  the 
farmer  had  scarcely  spoken,  and  when  he  did  speak,  it 
was  more  like  the  grunt  of  an  animal. 

In  about  two  hours,  and  after  a  drive  of  twelve  miles, 
they  turned  into  a  barnyard.  The  outline  of  a  log  barn 
could  be  faintly  seen  in  the  moonlight.  The  team  in  the 
barn,  they  crossed  the  yard,  through  a  gate  which  was 
held  in  its  place  by  a  chain  fastened  to  a  stake  in  the 
ground.  The  chain  ran  through  a  heavy,  round  tile,  which 
made  it  sag  in  the  middle,  like  a  hammock. 


32  EMMETT  LAWLER 

The  house  was  quiet,  and  save  for  the  ticking  of  a 
clock,  no  sound  was  heard.  The  farmer  lit  a  kerosene 
lamp  and  held  it  aloft,  while  Emmett  followed  him  up 
rude  stairs,  to  the  attic.  He  showed  Emmett  an  old- 
fashioned  wooden  bed  upon  which  was  a  feather  mat 
tress.  The  weary  youngster  forgot  his  prayers,  and  slept 
the  dreamless  sleep  of  oblivion. 

It  was  the  end  of  his  twelfth  birthday,  and  it  had  been 
full  of  thrills  for  him.  He  had  gone  through  all  the  con 
flicting  emotions  at  leaving  the  Home,  and  had  made  a 
journey  by  train  and  surrey  of  nearly  one  hundred  and 
sixty  miles. 

The  farmer  was  surprised  to  find  the  boy  awake  early 
the  next  morning.  He  did  not  know  that  Emmett  had 
been  wakened  every  morning  at  five  o'clock  for  six  years. 
Noise  was  heard  below,  and  the  odor  of  frying  meat 
floated  up  the  stairs. 

The  farmer,  Soaroff  by  name,  had  a  very  large  body 
and  a  very  small  head.  His  forehead  slanted  back  until 
it  crowded  his  brain.  There  was  an  expression  about  his 
pig-like  eyes  which  suggested  madness.  His  mother  had 
named  him  Solomon,  an  unconscious  tribute  paid  by  ig 
norance  to  wisdom.  It  is  one  of  the  ways  in  which  the 
world  insults  its  great  men. 

Solomon  was  one  of  seventeen  living  children,  all 
tainted  with  madness.  One  of  his  brothers  later  worried 
much  about  another  world,  although  he  knew  not  the 
first  thing  about  the  one  he  was  in.  That  he  was  an 
ornament  to  neither  never  occurred  to  him,  but  he  finally 
made  his  exit  from  this  world  and  entered  the  other  one 


A  NEW  LIFE  33 

in  a  sensational  manner.  Another  brother  ran  away  with 
his  niece. 

Mrs.  Soaroff  was  a  short  woman,  with  hair  combed 
straight  back  from  the  vaguest  outline  of  a  forehead.  Her 
face  was  as  sharp  as  a  hatchet,  and  her  eyes  gave  her  a 
malicious  expression.  Her  form  was  as  round  as  the  rain 
barrel  at  the  corner  of  the  house.  She  was  more  loqua 
cious  than  her  husband,  but,  if  anything,  she  thought  even 
less. 

A  two-year-old  boy,  the  exact  replica  of  his  father, 
howled  in  the  kitchen.  Ivy,  a  girl  of  Emmett's  age, 
greeted  her  "new  brother"  in  friendly  fashion.  She  led 
Emmett  to  the  wood-pile,  where  each  gathered  an  armful 
of  wood  for  the  kitchen  stove.  The  wood  was  in  a  corner 
of  the  barnyard,  above  which  pigeons  whirled.  Their 
home  was  in  a  box  near  the  barn  roof.  Emmett  watched 
them  with  intense  boyish  admiration. 

After  breakfast  Ivy  took  Emmett  into  the  parlor. 
When  she  raised  the  curtains  the  light  revealed  horrid 
chromos  of  living  and  dead  Soaroff s  hanging  from  the 
walls.  The  sensitive  boy  was  shocked  by  this  rude  dis 
play  of  primitive  art.  Mad  eyes  looked  out  of  flat  chromo 
faces,  for  in  spite  of  all  else  the  village  artist  had  caught 
the  gleam  of  madness. 

Four  books  lay  on  the  table  in  the  room.  "Pilgrim's 
Progress/'  "Earth,  Sea  and  Sky,"  "Robinson  Crusoe," 
and  the  Bible. 

Ivy  told  Emmett  the  history  of  the  chromo  immortals. 
Ivy's  parents  were  first  cousins,  and  the  pictures  of  her 
grandparents  were  strangely  alike.  The  mental  disorder 


34  EMMETT  LAWLER 

of  the  family,  or  their  lack  of  mind,  seemed  to  have 
skipped  Ivy,  but  from  the  union  of  her  father  and  mother 
she  had  inherited  a  weak  constitution  which  burst  into 
sudden  bloom  and  carried  her  away  at  eighteen. 

Emmett  worked  hard  during  the  summer,  but  try  as 
he  would  he  was  unable  to  please  this  Solomon  of  the 
roadside.  The  boy  did  not  grasp  the  simplest  rudiments 
of  farming,  but  in  a  strange,  brutal  way,  fate  wove  about 
the  rustic  hearts  some  strands  of  affection  for  him. 

The  summer  was  eventually  blotted  out  by  the  frost  of 
autumn.  Emmett  was  known  over  the  countryside  as 
"the  orphan  kid  the  Soaroffs  has  took  to  raise. "  He 
husked  corn  late  into  the  fall.  His  cracked  and  bleeding 
hands  left  marks  of  blood  upon  the  husks. 

Winter  crept  over  the  land  and  touched  it  with  a  drab 
outline  of  gloom.  Solomon  had  not  remembered  to  buy 
any  underwear  for  his  semi-adopted  son. 

Neither  Soaroff  nor  his  wife  could  read  nor  write. 
They  learned  the  pleasing  fact  that  Emmett  could  read 
well  aloud.  So  the  lad  from  the  Home  spent  hours  read 
ing  to  the  family.  He  waded  through  the  Slough  of 
Despond  with  that  half  insane  thinker,  Bunyan.  The 
Soaroffs  talked  of  Christian  and  Mr.  Facing  Both  Ways 
as  if  they  were  neighboring  farmers.  They  loved  Bun 
yan  as  they  loved  money. 

Neighbors  were  invited,  and  all  seated  themselves  in 
the  parlor,  while  Emmett  read  the  Bible  aloud.  It  was  a 
picture  for  an  artist  who  has  not  yet  arrived  in  the  world. 
The  auburn-haired  boy  was  seated  in  the  center  of  awe- 
inspired  rustics  in  a  chromo  art  gallery. 


A  NEW  LIFE  35 

The  rustics  speculated  much  about  the  vague  meanings 
in  the  book,  and  each  narrow  intellect  in  turn  took  a  nar 
rower  view.  Emmett  would  often  close  the  book  and 
listen  to  them  argue  pro  and  con.  They  were  so  serious 
about  it  that  only  their  parrot  intellects  kept  them  from 
living  according  to  its  teachings. 

By  a  system  of  their  own  they  had  the  end  of  the  world 
all  figured  out.  Some  of  them  felt  certain  that  it  would 
end  with  the  end  of  the  century,  now  almost  upon  them. 
With  the  calm  of  their  own  cattle  they  awaited  the  blow 
ing  of  Gabriel's  horn.  Emmett  had  been  taught  that  the 
sea  would  give  up  its  dead  on  the  last  day.  He  used  to 
picture  in  his  mind  the  mighty  gathering  of  men  and 
women  dead  for  thousands  and  thousands  of  years.  They 
were  all  to  assemble  before  the  great  Judge  and  he  was  to 
sort  out  the  good  from  the  bad.  The  former  were  to  be  on 
the  right  hand  of  the  Judge.  Try  as  he  would  he  could 
not  picture  the  Judge  being  crowded  on  his  right. 

Emmett  thought  the  last  day  might  make  quite  a  dis 
turbance,  but  somehow  he  felt  glad  that  something  might 
come  to  break  the  monotony  of  his  existence.  And  still 
he  read  on. 

They  never  tired  of  hearing  him  read  the  Revelation 
of  St.  John.  In  the  midst  of  one  passage  in  Revelation 
Soaroff  stopped  Emmett,  while  he  speculated  with  his 
neighbors  over  a  question.  Emmett  had  read: 

And  the  number  of  the  army  of  horsemen  were  two  hundred 
thousand  thousand:  and  I  heard  the  number  of  them. 

Vainly  they  tried  to  conjecture  how  much  space  so  many 


36  EMMETT  LAWLER 

horses  would  cover.  It  was  plain  to  be  seen  that  their 
imaginations  were  staggered.  Then  Emmett  read  the  next 
paragraph : 

And  thus  I  saw  the  horses  in  a  vision,  and  them  that  sat  on 
them  having  breastplates  of  fire,  and  of  jacinth,  and  brimstone: 
and  the  heads  of  the  horses  were  as  heads  of  lions;  and  out  of 
their  mouths  issued  fire  and  smoke  and  brimstone. 

For  their  power  is  in  their  mouth,  and  in  their  tails :  for  their 
tails  were  like  unto  serpents,  and  had  heads,  and  with  them  they 
do  hurt 

The  reading  was  ended  for  the  night.  Two  hundred 
thousand  thousand  horses  with  heads  like  lions,  and  tails 
like  serpents  had  proven  food  for  discussion  for  the  re 
mainder  of  the  neighbors'  stay.  John  was  indeed  strong 
meat  for  people  who  spent  their  leisure  poring  over 
mail  order  catalogues.  But  after  hearing  the  Revelation 
they  were  doubly  convinced  of  the  end  of  the  world. 

Robinson  Crusoe  was  a  relief  to  the  boy.  Friday  and 
his  master  helped  him  to  do  the  evening  chores. 

Revival  meetings  were  held  at  the  country  churches 
each  winter.  Soaroff  held  the  record  as  the  country 
backslider.  He  got  a  new  brand  of  religion  each  winter. 
He  was  impartial  as  to  church  or  creed.  The  most  fluent 
preacher  gathered  him  into  the  fold.  Had  Mahomet  and 
Luther  met  him  on  a  country  road,  he  would  have  taken 
all  their  fanaticism,  and  none  of  their  goodness.  He  had 
a  voice  that  was  a  blending  of  bass  and  discord.  It  was 
loud  enough  to  call  the  cattle  home,  no  matter  how  far 
they  wandered.  As  Emmett  had  relieved  Solomon  of  all 


i 


A  NEW  LIFE  37 

the  chores,  he  had  much  more  time  to  commune  with  his 
soul. 

Solomon  had  a  sense  of  rustic  drama.  Long  practice 
at  being  converted  had  taught  him  the  technic  of  these 
revivals.  Just  when  everybody  thought  that  Solomon 
was  so  deep  in  the  mire  of  sin  that  his  own  team  could 
not  pull  him  out — a  miracle  would  happen. 

But  for  some  reason  it  was  taking  the  spirit  much 
longer  to  move  him  this  winter.  He  lingered  at  the 
Mourner's  Bench  each  night  for  two  weeks.  Members 
of  the  congregation  shook  their  heads  slowly  and  despair 
ingly.  The  rustics  speculated  as  to  whether  or  not  Solo 
mon  would  ever  receive  the  manifold  blessings  of  religion 
again. 

He  had  outstayed  all  the  mourners  at  the  bench.  As 
they  were  converted,  their  shouts  of  glory  moved  him  not. 
The  minister  and  members  shouted  and  prayed,  but  still 
the  giant  farmer  knelt,  with  head  bowed  down  like 
Millet's  rustic  listening  to  the  Angelus. 

The  preacher  prayed  aloud,  "Lord,  Lord,  descend  and 
give  peace  to  this  weary  brother  of  mankind."  He 
mopped  his  brow  with  a  large  red  kerchief,  and  Emmett 
noticed  a  weary  expression  on  his  face.  The  preacher 
had  converted  the  giant  farmer  before,  and  it  was  a  blow 
to  his  professional  pride  when  Solomon  had  reverted 
to  the  ways  of  sin.  Suddenly  Solomon  started  swaying 
up  and  down,  his  head  rising  high  and  then  touching  the 
bench,  and  on  seeing  this  the  congregation  was  filled 
with  new  hopes.  He  moaned,  louder  and  louder,  like  a 


38  EMMETT  LAWLER 

soul  in  deadly  pain.  All  crowded  about  and  looked  down 
at  the  swaying  brother.  The  preacher  made  the  same 
movement  as  Solomon  and  then  others  started  to  sway, 
and  a  mighty  song  rilled  the  small  church.  The  singers 
lingered  with  each  word  until  they  were  forced  to  let 
it  go— , 

W-he-n  the  r-o-1-1  i-s  c-a-1-le-d  up  yond-der, 
Whe--n  t-h-e  r-o-11  is  ca-1-l-ed  up  yo-n-der — , 

Then  like  the  snap  of  a  whip — 

When  the  roll  is  called  up  yonder  I'll  be  there — 

Suddenly,  like  the  blessed  breeze  which  the  Ancient 
Mariner  felt  at  last,  a  mock  religion  flooded  the  farmer's 
soul.  He  arose  from  the  bench  with  a  terrible  shout.  He 
roared  his  thanks  to  the  God  above.  He  clasped  the  sis 
ters  in  his  arms — it  was  always  the  sisters.  Emmett  had 
never  witnessed  the  stolid  intellect  show  such  life.  He 
started  to  sing  with  a  voice  of  thunder.  It  might  have 
disturbed  the  sleeping  cattle  on  nearby  farms.  He  swung 
his  arms  wildly,  and  unfortunately,  one  hand  touched  the 
hot  stove-pipe.  The  demonstration  was  over  for  the  night. 

The  members  filed  out  of  the  church,  as  men  leave  a 
steel  mill  after  a  hard  day's  work.  Patiently  and  wearily 
they  said,  "Good-night,  Brother"— "Good-night,  Sister." 
And  the  preacher  said  to  all,  as  he  fastened  his  red  muffler 
around  his  throat,  "We  should  all  pray  to  God  to  keep 
Brother  Solomon  safely  in  the  fold."  "Amen,"  said  all 
in  unison,  while  Solomon  looked  about  him  and  held  his 
burned  hand. 


A  NEW  LIFE  39 

Religion  settled  down  upon  the  Soaroff  household  for 
the  winter.  Solomon  bought  Emmett  no  underwear,  how 
ever. 

Mrs.  Soaroff  felt  no  need  of  being  converted  each  win 
ter.  She  merely  started  going  to  church  when  revival 
meetings  commenced,  and  kept  it  up  until  spring. 

Emmett's  near  foster  parents  now  walked,  drove,  and 
rode  horses  to  all  the  churches  for  miles  around. 

When  the  mud  was  so  deep  that  a  horse  could  not  pull 
a  buggy,  the  dauntless  religionists  either  walked  or  rode 
horses.  During  such  times  Emmett  stayed  at  home  with 
Ivy  and  the  boy. 

One  night  as  Ivy  opened  the  door  suddenly  the  light 
from  the  lamp  shone  directly  in  the  face  of  a  man.  She 
screamed  and  dashed  back  through  the  house.  The 
screams  of  the  girl  awoke  the  sleeping  boy  and  he 
screamed  also.  Emmett  rushed  to  the  door  and  shut  it, 
and  ran  for  a  shot  gun,  which  he  could  not  have  used 
in  any  case.  He  walked  to  the  summer  kitchen,  the  door 
of  which  was  only  fastened  by  a  small  piece  of  wood. 
No  footsteps  could  be  heard,  but  the  boy  heard  the  barn 
yard  gate  shut  softly,  and  then  the  chain  creaked. 

Never  did  hours  drag  so  slowly  since  the  beginning  of 
mortal  time.  Ivy  cried  and,  girl-like,  wished  to  be  near 
some  one  stronger  than  herself.  Her  brother  was  soon 
quieted,  and  slept  soundly,  his  regular  breathing  and 
the  regular  ticking  of  the  clock  being  the  only  sounds  in 
the  room.  The  curtains  were  drawn,  and  Emmett  was 
afraid  to  look  out  into  the  black  night. 

Emmett   sat   still,   with  the  old   shot  gun  near  him, 


40  EMMETT  LAWLER 

while  Ivy  sat  on  his  lap,  with  both  arms  about  his  neck. 
The  danger  had  made  the  girl  cling  to  Emmett,  and  the 
boy  could  feel  her  heart  pounding  against  him.  Finally, 
she,  too,  slept,  as  a  child  sleeps,  fretfully.  Her  head 
rested  upon  his  shoulder,  and  if  the  boy  stirred  ever  so 
slightly,  the  girl  would  hold  him  tighter. 

The  Soaroffs  returned  near  midnight,  and  the  fright 
ened  boy  was  telling  his  tale  before  Solomon  could  put 
out  the  light  in  the  lantern  he  carried. 

The  imprint  of  gum  boots  in  the  mud  path  near  the 
house  was  all  that  could  be  seen. 

It  is  doubtful  if  Ivy  ever  really  recovered  from  the 
shock  she  received  that  night. 

The  long  winter  passed.  March  came  and  went,  like  a 
lion  with  muddy  feet.  Then  spring  unfolded  her  green 
garment  over  the  earth.  The  snow  in  the  fence  corners 
gradually  melted  away — and  so  did  Solomon's  religion. 

SoarofT  had  two  accomplishments.  He  was  a  keen 
horses-trader,  and  he  was  rapid  at  figures.  He  could 
"figger  things  up  in  his  head  quicker'n  any  man  in  the 
keonty,"  was  the  unanimous  verdict.  But  he  was  much 
prouder  of  his  ability  to  cheat  in  a  horse  trade. 

He  rode  home  one  night  by  the  light  of  the  moon  on 
a  powerful  roan  horse.  He  was  so  pleased  that  he  almost 
t.poke  to  Emmett  as  he  entered  the  house.  He  went  into 
details  to  his  wife  about  his  latest  trade.  He  chuckled  as 
he  thought  of  it.  He  laughed  in  a  satisfied  manner  and 
his  yellow,  snagged  teeth  showed  as  he  made  ready  for 
bed.  Soaroff  always  undressed  in  the  Art  Gallery  of  the 


A  NEW  LIFE  41 

house,  and  he  walked  up  stairs — a  Man  with  the  Hoe — as 
God  made  him. 

Columbus  discovering  America  was  not  a  bit  more  sur 
prised  than  Solomon  the  next  morning.  To  his  chagrin, 
he  discovered  that  the  horse  was  "moon  eyed"  and  un 
able  to  see  in  daylight.  The  poor  horse  was  as  blind  to 
visual  objects  in  daylight,  as  Solomon  was  to  intellectual 
objects,  day  or  night. 

The  news  soon  spread,  and  Solomon  was  forced  to 
drive  some  distance  to  trade  his  horse.  He  drove  away 
one  evening  as  the  moon  was  rising,  and  late  that  night 
he  returned  with  two  yellow  mules.  The  mules  were 
large  and  wise.  They  would  lay  back  their  ears  like 
rabbits  when  Soaroff  drew  near — but  they  liked  Emmett. 

One  morning  boy  and  master  decided  to  ride  the  mules 
a  few  miles  distant  where  Solomon  was  placing  a  tile  ditch 
in  the  earth. 

Emmett  sat  upon  Jerry  and  stroked  his  ears.  Solomon 
climbed  upon  Jasper  in  the  manner  of  a  tired  jockey. 
Mrs.  Soaroff  handed  Solomon  a  tin  dinner  bucket.  Some 
thing  rattled  inside  of  it.  Jasper  pricked  up  his  ears  and 
seemed  to  hesitate  in  order  to  give  Soaroff  a  fair  chance. 
Suddenly  the  clattering  noise  was  heard  again  and  Jasper 
went  up  in  the  air,  and  all  four  feet  hit  the  ground  within 
twelve  inches  of  each  other.  Never  did  bucking  broncho 
outdo  Jasper  on  that  morning.  Jerry  looked  at  Jasper 
with  a  shocked  expression  on  his  patient  face,  while  the 
rider  of  Jerry  laughed  away  down  deep. 

Soaroff  tried  to  hold  to  the  bucket.     It  fell  to  the 


42  EMMETT  LAWLER 

ground  with  the  noise  of  an  exploding  shell.  This  was 
more  than  Jasper  could  stand,  and  he  jumped  higher  and 
higher  the  closer  he  approached  the  woodpile.  Solomon 
screamed  "Whoa!  Whoa!!!" — and  his  hand  loosened, 
and  he  dropped  with  a  thud  on  the  woodpile.  As  luck 
would  have  it,  he  dropped  on  a  sharp  stick,  which  did 
more  than  tear  his  overalls.  Jasper  walked  over  to 
Jerry,  and  placed  his  head  near  him,  for  all  the  world 
as  though  he  were  telling  his  mate  a  secret. 

The  crippled  intellectual  limped  to  the  house  and 
yelled  as  he  limped — "Put  those  damn  mules  in  the  barn." 

Emmett  gave  the  mules  extra  grain  in  their  boxes,  and 
petted  them  fondly.  He  had  a  vacation  that  day. 


TWO  FRIENDS 

APRIL,  May  and  June.  During  the  first  month  Emmett 
was  in  the  field  picking  chunks  from  dynamited  stumps 
so  early  in  the  morning  that  when  the  recess  bell  rang  at 
the  country  school  he  thought  it  was  the  dinner  bell. 

It  became  too  warm  to  wear  his  felt  boots,  and  he  had 
no  shoes,  so  he  shocked  wheat  in  his  bare  feet.  The 
stubble  scratched  his  ankles  till  they  bled. 

During  all  that  long  summer  the  boy  worked  from 
early  morning  until  late  at  night.  Not  one  thing  ap 
peared  to  break  the  wretched  monotony  of  the  dull  rou 
tine  of  labor. 

Luckily,  for  the  lad,  when  the  second  winter  drew 
near  he  met  an  old  Faith  Healer,  who  became  his  friend. 

The  revival  meetings  had  scarcely  started  before 
SoarofF  was  converted  again.  He  was  even  more  frantic 
with  zeal  than  he  was  the  winter  before.  His  lusty  voice 
shook  the  rafters  of  the  frame  churches,  where  he  sang. 

The  churches  were  always  located  at  cross  roads,  and 
when  the  meetings  were  in  full  sway,  horses  and  vehicles 
of  every  description  stood  about  them. 

Young  farmers  appeared,  wearing  ill-fitting  store 
clothes,  rubber  collars,  and  detachable  cuffs.  Invariably, 
they  came  with  their  "girl."  They  would  bring  their  lap- 
robes,  and  sometimes  their  buggy  whips  into  the  church 

43 


44  EMMETT  LAWLER 

with  them.  Whips  and  robes  had  been  stolen  upon  oc 
casion,  and  it  appeared  the  better  part  of  wisdom  to  watch 
over  worldly  possessions  even  at  a  church. 

During  the  second  winter  a  heavy  snow  came  and  lin 
gered  for  many  weeks  upon  the  ground.  It  soon  packed 
upon  the  roads,  and  became  as  hard  and  smooth  as  asphalt 
pavement.  The  merry  jingle  of  sleigh  bells  echoed  on 
every  road.  Soaroff  had  only  an  antiquated  sleigh  stored 
away  in  the  rear  of  the  hay-loft.  He  had  no  sleigh  bells, 
but  that  worried  the  resourceful  farmer  not  at  all.  A 
cow-bell  told  his  neighbors  of  his  approach. 

Emmett  met  a  school  girl  friend  of  Ivy's  on  a  never- 
to-be-forgotten  ride.  She  was  giving  a  sled  party,  and 
when  she  stopped  at  Ivy's  house,  she  insisted  with  Solo 
mon  that  Emmett  should  be  allowed  to  go  also. 

Effie  Ramsay  was  the  daughter  of  a  Scotch-Irish 
farmer  whose  fine  house  and  barn  were  landmarks  in  the 
vicinity. 

Effie's  mother  had  a  taste  for  dressing  her  which 
amounted  to  a  fine  talent.  She  looked  nicer  in  a  blue 
checked  gingham  apron  than  some  of  the  other  girls  did 
in  more  ornate  dresses. 

But  Effie  had  qualities  of  her  own.  Looking  back  over 
the  years,  Emmett  still  holds  her  as  his  ideal  of  country 
girlhood  beauty.  Her  eyes  literally  shone  with  merriment, 
as  though  pretty  pictures  were  always  before  them.  Her 
cheeks  were  the  color  of  ripe  peaches.  Stray  brown  hair 
fell  over  a  forehead  perfect  in  symmetry  and  beauty. 

Everybody  liked  Effie — even  Soaroff  and  his  wife.  Her 
father  was  County  Commissioner,  and  the  overlord  of 


TWO  FRIENDS  45 

the  township.  Hence,  the  farmers  felt  honored  when 
Effie  called. 

The  stars  glistened  white  upon  a  white  earth.  Effie 
sat  beside  Emmett  and  actually  pulled  his  coat  collar  up 
about  his  neck.  Emmett  had  no  mittens,  and  she  placed 
part  of  her  shawl  over  his  hands.  Emmett  was  slightly 
delirious  over  so  much  kindness. 

The  children  started  to  sing  as  the  sled  went  merrily 
along — they  sang  a  catchy  melody — , 

Over  the  river — and  through  the  woods, 
Oh,  how  the  wild  wind  blows — , 
It  chills  the  ears  and  bites  the  nose — 
As  over  the  ground  it  goes — it  goes. 

The  stars  look  down  on  the  old,  old  town, 
But  the  country's  nicer  all  aroun' — 
Te-rup-te  rup-te-rup-te-rup — , 
Te-rup,  te-rup-te  day. 

EffiVs  voice  sounded  clear  and  sweet  as  she  huddled 
close  to  Emmett  and  sang  with  girlish  glee.  Her  breath 
was  as  sweet  as  the  wind  after  a  June  rain. 

Effie  came  to  Soaroff's  frequently  after  this  night. 

She  vied  with  the  Faith  Healer  in  bringing  joy  into  the 
orphan  boy's  life. 

Once,  when  she  was  alone  with  Emmett  in  the  Soaroff 
lane,  where  she  had  accompanied  him  to  help  drive  the 
cattle  to  the  barnyard,  Emmett  laid  bare  his  repressed 
boyhood  to  her. 

The  cows  wandered  slowly  toward  the  water  trough 
while  the  boy  and  girl  leaned  upon  the  rail  fence  and 
looked  at  the  patch  of  woods  upon  the  adjoining  farm. 


46  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Smoke   from  a  slowly  burning  straw   pile  in  the  field 
blurred  the  sun. 

"Papa  likes  to  talk  to  you,  Emmett,  why  don't  you 
never  come  over  to  our  house?"  The  boy  blurted  out: 

"Gosh,  Effie!  Old  Sol  never  lets  me  go  no  place.  I 
can't  even  go  swimmin'  in  Blue  Creek  when  the  other  kids 
go." 

"Do  you  ever  wish  you  had  a  mama  ?"  asked  Effie,  com 
pletely  changing  the  subject. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  "when  I'm  lonesome  I  think 
about  her,  and  wish  I  could  see  her." 

"Why  don't  you  run  away  ?"  queried  Effie. 

"Where'd  I  go?    Nobody  wants  orphan  kids  anyhow. 

"You  know,  Effie,"  he  continued,  "when  it  was  twenty 
below  that  time,  old  Sol  never  got  me  no  mittens,  nor 
underwear  either.  My  legs  was  raw  with  cold.  I  work 
like  a  dog,  and  he  gets  Ivy  everything, — I  don't  blame 
her — she's  all  right." 

Just  then,  Ivy  came  running  down  the  road. 

"Just  wait,"  said  Effie,  "I'll  talk  to  my  daddy,"  as  Ivy 
joined  them. 

The  following  Sunday  the  Faith  Healer  called  at  the 
Soaroff  home.  Emmett  was  alone,  and  was  busily  en 
gaged  looking  at  the  wonders  of  "Earth,  Sea,  and  Sky." 

It  was  a  volume  which  some  stray  book  agent  had 
succeeded  in  selling  the  Soaroffs. 

It  was  profuse  with  pictures  of  far-off  places,  of  a 
comet  dashing  through  space,  of  the  sun  and  moon,  Jupiter 
and  Mars,  of  giant  fishes,  and  sea  and  earth  animals. 
Emmett  could  hardly  lift  the  book,  it  was  so  heavy,  so  he 


TWO  FRIENDS  47 

often  lay  upon  the  floor  with  it  spread  out  before  his 
eyes. 

A  knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  as  Emmett  opened 
it,  the  Faith  Healer  smiled  at  him  cheerily,  and  said, 

"Hello,  lad,  all  alone,  eh!  I  thought  you  would  be. 
I  saw  the  Soaroffs  drive  away." 

He  walked  into  the  Art  Gallery  and  seated  himself 
upon  a  cheap  upholstered  chair.  He  then  looked  down 
at  the  book  and  said,  "I'm  glad  you  read,  lad,  keep  it  up. 
It's  the  best  habit  on  earth.  A  great  man  said  that  he 
wouldn't  exchange  his  habit  of  reading  for  all  the  treas 
ures  in  India.  His  name  was  Gibbon." 

The  Faith  Healer  looked  at  the  pictures  of  the  mad 
Soaroffs,  and  turned  his  eyes  away. 

The  Faith  Healer's  real  name  was  Eric  Col  fax,  but 
very  few  people  ever  heard  his  first  name,  nor  his  last 
name  either.  He  was  known  over  the  county  as  the  Faith 
Healer. 

He  was  an  immense  man,  with  a  closely  cropped  black- 
and-gray  beard.  He  had  kind  gray  eyes,  almost  hidden 
by  bushy  eyebrows.  His  face  told  no  tale  about  his  age. 
He  might  have  been  fifty  or  seventy.  He  gave  the  im 
pression  of  great  silent  strength.  In  winter  or  summer 
he  wore  a  blue  flannel  shirt,  and  it  was  always  open  at 
the  throat. 

He  did  not  work  as  hard  as  his  neighbors,  and  he  lived 
much  to  himself.  Men  driving  by  his  log  house  late  at 
night  would  often  see  a  light  burning.  He  was  a  constant 
reader. 

He  used  natural  methods  in  healing,  far  ahead  of  his 


48  EMMETT  LAWLER 

time,  but  his  patients  thought  he  healed  by  faith.  He  set 
bones  with  amazing  and  accurate  skill. 

His  charges  were  modest,  and  people  drove  for  many 
miles  to  consult  him.  He  made  no  calls,  unless  it  was  a 
case  of  life  or  death.  Little  children  loved  him,  vicious 
dogs  became  gentle  under  his  touch,  and  crying  babies 
were  soothed  by  him.  There  was  an  element  of  mystery 
about  him,  which,  combined  with  his  strange  power  of 
healing,  made  him  respected  and  loved  by  his  rural 
neighbors. 

This  man  had  touched  life  on  many  sides.  He  had 
been  a  sailor,  and  had  sailed  to  far  places.  He  had  hun 
gered  in  cities,  and  the  gnawing  winds  of  winter  had 
found  him  homeless  on  their  streets. 

When  his  sun  had  passed  its  meridian  he  had  denied 
himself  everything  but  a  meager  existence,  while  he  toiled 
like  a  galley  slave.  As  a  result — he  owned  five  acres  anc 
a  log  house  on  a  country  road. 

If  there  had  ever  been  a  woman  in  his  life,  she  was 
buried  in  the  land  of  forgotten  things. 

One  of  the  country  doctors,  who  indulged  now  and 
then  in  the  bottle,  had  been  heard  to  say,  while  tipsy,  thai 
the  Healer  knew  medicine  backward,  and  that  he  fell 
certain  he  had  studied  at  a  college  somewhere.  But  the 
Faith  Healer  lived  his  own  life,  at  peace  with  man  and 
nature. 

His  five  acres  produced  more  than  enough  for  his 
simple  needs.  There  was  a  calm  within  his  soul  which 
Napoleon  might  well  have  envied.  His  life  was  a  peaceful 
lake  in  the  moonlight.  He  used  to  say  to  Emmett  that  he 


TWO  FRIENDS  49 

would  be  obliged  to  sleep  in  the  corn  crib,  if  he  did  not 
quit  sending  for  books. 

He  was  interested  in  everything  under  the  sun,  but  pos 
sibly  more  than  all  else  was  he  interested  in  the  vagaries 
of  the  human  mind.  He  found  the  boy  a  responsive  lis 
tener,  and  once,  when  the  lad  thrilled  at  an  interesting 
tale  from  his  lips,  the  Healer  said, 

"My  lad,  you  must  have  been  born  old.  Tell  me  about 
your  father  and  mother." 

"Well,"  said  the  boy,  "Daddy  was  a  ditch-digger,  with 
a  long  red  mustache.  I  remember  him  some.  The  ends 
of  his  mustache  almost  touched  his  coat.  He  used  to  sit 
and  pull  the  ends  of  it  until  they  were  pointed  like  the 
end  of  a  carrot.  He  never  licked  me  at  all,  nor  he  wasn't 
mean  to  me.  But  I've  never  heard  from  him  since  mother 
died."  The  boy  paused  as  the  Faith  Healer  sat  looking 
intently  at  him  with  kindly,  serious. eyes. 

"And  about  your  mother,  lad,"  he  went  on. 

"My  Mother !"  said  the  Dreamer  Woman's  child,  "I  re 
member  a  lot  about  her.  She  was  so  different  from  Mrs. 
Soaroff,  or  any  of  these  women  around  here.  She  had 
real  long  red  hair,  and  sometimes  she  used  to  let  it  hang 
down  in  awful  long  braids.  I  used  to  hold  them  and 
drive  her  around  the  house,  just  like  she  used  to  drive  old 
Pokey.  Old  Pokey  was  our  horse,  you  know,"  said  the 
boy. 

"No,  I  didn't  know  that,"  replied  the  Healer,  "but  was 
your  mother  pretty  ?" 

"My  oldest  brother  at  the  Home  used  to  say  how 
pretty  she  was,  and  my  sister  used  to  tell  her  all  the  time 


50  EMMETT  LAWLER 

I 

how  pretty  she  looked.     Sister  was  twelve  when  Mother 

died.  We  were  only  together  a  month  after  that. 
Mother  had  hazel-brown  eyes,  and  she  used  to  read  a  lot, 
just  like  you." 

"Did  she  ever  sing  to  you  ?"  asked  the  kind  man. 

"A  lot,"  answered  the  boy,  "she  had  a  violin  that  Uncle 
Emmett  gave  her,  and  she  used  to  play  and  sing  while 
sister  would  dance."  The  boy  walked  close  to  the  Healer 
and  placed  a  little  muscular  arm  about  his  neck,  and 
sobbed  quietly, 

"I  wish  she  hadn't  died." 

"There,  there,  lad — don't  cry — you'll  be  a  big  man  some 
day,  and  your  mother  will  watch  you  from  some  far-off 
place."  A  pause. 

"But  it  will  not  be  like  it  was,  though,"  then  the  aston 
ishing  words  came  like  a  challenge,  "You  know  I'll  never 
see  Mother  again, — she's  dead — and  I  want  her  like  she 
was,  anyhow."  Before  the  Healer  replied,  the  boy  re 
sumed,  "I  heard  Soaroff  say  people's  hair  keeps  right 
on  growing  after  they're  dead.  Mother's  coffin  must  be 
full  of  hair  by  this  time." 

The  Healer  ignored  the  boy's  remark  about  his  mother's 
hair,  and  started  a  new  subject. 

"Lad,  did  they  not  teach  you  that  you  had  an  immortal 
soul  that  would  never  die?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  boy,  "I  studied  all  about  it  for  six 
years." 

"And  did  they  teach  you  about  men  in  history,  also?" 

"Yes,  they  used  to  say  at  the  Home  that  Martin  Luther 
was  a  mean  man,  and  that  he  died  and  went  to  hell.  I 


TWO  FRIENDS  51 

even  heard  some  of  the  boys  say  that  he  hung  himself  to 
a  bedpost." 

"Well,"  said  the  Healer,  "Luther  was  brave,  and  had 
nerve,  and  it  redeems  him  for  me,  though  he  was  as  crazy 
about  religion  as  Soarorf.  He  did  not  like  the  common 
people  any  more  than  he  liked  a  lot  of  cattle.  He  thought 
they  were  made  to  serve  God  and  Kings.  Many  fol 
lowers  of  Christ  are  like  that,  but  he  was  different.  The 
day  will  come  when  science  will  place  all  fanatical  teach 
ings  on  a  fire  and  burn  them.  The  ashes  will  loosen  the 
soil  of  the  earth,  then  real  freedom  will  grow,  like  an 
immense  tree,  and  men's  eyes  will  be  rested  from  the  glare 
of  the  unknowable,  and  we'll  make  the  most  of  life  while 
we  are  here.  For  we  will  always  be  like  little  children 
stumbling  in  the  dark,  as  an  old  Persian  said,  eight  hun 
dred  years  ago." 

From  such  chats  a  great  friendship  grew  between  man 
and  boy. 

Soaroff  and  his  wife  used  to  sneer  and  say  that  the 
Healer  was  an  infidel,  for  one  of  the  preachers  had  told 
them  so.  But  the  lad  would  go  to  the  Healer's  house  every 
chance  he  got,  and  spend  hours  with  him  and  his  books. 

The  Healer  was  in  a  happy  mood  this  Sunday  morning. 
Looking  up  at  the  clock,  he  said,  "Come,  lad.  The  old 
sorrel  mare  is  outside,  and«  there's  room  in  the  buckboard 
for  one  more.  I'm  going  to  spend  the  day  with  Ramsay, 
and  I  promised  Effie  that  I  would  bring  you  if  I  had  to 
carry  you  away." 

Emmett  thrilled  at  the  words.  He  had  a  hat  which 
had  once  been  black,  but  which  was  now  faded  till  it 


52  EMMETT  LAWLER 

was  the  color  of  his  hair.  He  placed  it  on  his  mass  of 
curls,  then  the  Healer  lifted  the  book  from  the  floor  and 
placed  it  on  the  table,  while  the  boy  ran  out  to  untie  the 
mare  who  stood  dozing  near  a  post  at  the  gate. 

"Don't  know  why  I  tie  her,"  said  the  Healer;  "force 
of  habit,  I  guess." 

By  constant  urging  the  old  mare  could  be  made  to  trot. 
Then,  as  if  thinking  better  of  being  so  rash  at  her  age, 
she  would  slacken  her  pJace,  and  if  nothing  were  said  to 
her,  she  would  stop  dead  still,  and  begin  a  doze. 

The  Healer  would  slap  the  lines  over  her  broad  back, 
and  say,  "On  with  you,  Lazybones."  She  would  trot  on 
for  a  few  hundred  feet,  and  stop  again  at  the  first  oppor 
tunity.  In  this  manner  the  man  and  horse  had  traveled 
over  the  roads  for  many  years. 

The  sky  was  clear,  save  for  some  tiny  white  clouds 
scattered  about,  like  lost  sheep  in  a  blue  pasture.  A 
breeze  played  over  the  fields  of  grain,  and  made  them 
undulate  like  the  waves  of  a  small  ocean.  So  real  it 
seemed  that  Emmett  tried  to  fancy  a  little  white  ship 
upon  it. 

Sarah,  the  mare,  had  stopped  for  a  dream.  Emmett 
nudged  the  Healer  and  made  an  up  and  down  motion  with 
his  hand,  to  imitate  the  waving  fields.  The  Healer  looked 
at  them,  and  said, 

"Beautiful,  eh,  lad !  I've  seen  the  wind  play  over  fields 
like  that  in  Argentine.  One  wave  after  another,  mile 
after  mile." 

When  they  reached  the  Ramsay  home  one  of  the  hired 
men  unhitched  Sarah,  who  turned  toward  the  water 


TWO  FRIENDS  53 

trough,  for  Sarah  was  no  stranger  at  the  Ramsay  home. 
Mr.  Ramsay,  his  wife,  and  Effie  greeted  them,  and  to 
gether  they  went  into  the  house. 

It  was  a  large  brick  house,  with  an  iron  fence  about 
it,  and  a  steel  windmill  at  the  rear.  A  porch  extended 
clear  across  the  front,  and  three  large  hard  maple  trees 
formed  a  triangle  in  the  front  yard.  If  all  of  Mr.  Ram 
say's  land  had  been  in  one  spot,  there  would  have  been  a 
stretch  of  two  miles  on  every  side  of  it.  For  he  owned 
two  sections,  twelve  hundred  and  eighty  acres.  The  brick 
house  stood  at  one  corner  of  the  sections  of  land. 

The  house  contained  a  big  living  room,  in  one  corner  of 
which  was  a  highly  polished  piano.  Books  and  maga 
zines  were  in  evidence,  and  there  was  also  a  large  book 
which  contained  the  biographies  of  most  anybody  in  the 
county  who  would  pay  ten  dollars  for  having  theirs  in 
serted,  and  ten  dollars  for  the  published  book.  To  read 
the  sketches  one  would  imagine  that  many  prominent  peo 
ple  lived  in  the  county.  Mr.  Ramsay's  picture  was  in 
the  first  part  of  the  book,  and  the  crafty  man  got  a  book 
free  and  also  the  biography.  The  agent  wanted  some 
one  to  "start  the  ball  rollin'  in  the  county,"  so  he  picked 
the  prominent  Mr.  Ramsay. 

Effie  played  and  sang  at  the  piano,  and  ended  with 
the  favorite  hymn  of  President  McKinley,  "Lead,  Kindly 
Light."  The  Healer  enjoyed  music,  and  he  would 
often  stop  for  an  hour  while  Effie  played  and  sang  for 
him. 

Effie  had  learned  the  art  of  entertaining  from  a  mother 
who  lived  to  make  people  happy.  Mrs.  Ramsay  was 


54  EMMETT  LAWLER 

of  Iliaf-  type  of  woman  well  known  in  Oliin,  who  fell  al- 
most  offended,  if  a  guest  did  not  eat  heartily. 

A  hiied  i-iil,  Ihc  daughter  of  ;i  neitdihor,  and  likewise 
tlir.  social  e<|iia1  of  her  inislrcss,  in  a  district  I  hat;  know 

no  caste,  waited  upon  the  table.  Mrs.  Ramsay  insisted 
that  i  he  j'irl  si  I  down  and  eat,  but  she  replied  that  she 
would  wait  until  all  were  through. 

I1  mind  t  was  a  continual  source  of  interest  to  Effic,  and 
she  had  talked  lo  her  father  re^ardim;  him. 

Some  of  the  people  called  the  I  lealer  "Hoc"  through 
long  familiarity  and  rude  courtesy.  When  the  children 
were  out  of  hearing  Ramsay  said  to  htm, 

"It's  this  way,  Doc,  Soaroff  has  nine  brothers,  ami 
about  fifty-nine  men  cousins,  all  voting  in  this  comity, 
and  I've  got  to  play  safe.  Tracy  may  beat  me  for  Com 
missioner  this  fall  if  T  ain't  darn  careful.  I'll  advance 
twenty-five  for  Emmett's  clothes,  and  you  keep  him  at 
your  house.  Is  that  a  go?" 

"It's  mighty  fine  of  \<>n,  Ramsay.  The  lad  will  be 
pleased  with  new  clothes." 

"I  never  once  thought  ahont  the  boy,"  said  Ramsay, 
"till  I1  (Tie  got  after  me  about  him.  Has  Soaroff  got  any 
Itl  ings  on  him?" 

"None  at  all."  said  (lie  1  lealer.  "I ''mm  the  way  l''m- 
inelf  talK'.,  he  jn-.l  went  to  the  Home  and  picked  him  out. 
Thoii:;hl  lie  looked  husky.  I  jmcss.  If  the  lad  hadn't  s-one 
with  him  they'd  have  pmhahly  sent  him  to  a  Kefoim 
School.  It's  a  hell  of  a  world  where  kid:;  arc  allowed  to 
j;row  up  like  stray  cats.  No  wondei  they  :.eralch  and 
Jute  when  they  r.cl  older.  I  don't  hlame  them  a  damn 


TWO  FRIENDS  55 

bit."  The  1  loalor  was  mad,  ami  his  jaw  was  firm  beneath 
his  hlack-and-gray  whiskers. 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  well-to-do  Ramsay,  who  liked 
a  game  of  cards  now  and  then,  "they  surely  stacked  the 

cauls  on  Kmmctt.  Hut  he's  sine  to  conic  through — that 
kiml  always 'do." 

"\Yroni;  a^ain.  Ramsay."  said  the  Healer,  "one  out  of 
a  hundred  comes  through,  maybe,  but  you  don't  read  of 
the  other  ninety  nine.  1  ran  across  this  clipping  the  other 
day,  it's  by  a  fellow  by  the  name  of  James  Lane  Allen. 
1  thought  of  the  boy  at  the  time  and  saved  it  I'll  read 
it, 

"But  we  must  not  forget  that  an  early  life  of  hardship,  while 
it  iu.iv  In -iiii:  out  wlut  is  Ivst  in  a  man,  so  often  wastes  up  his 

ou-u-.u-s  .Mul  bm  us  his  ambitions  to  ashes  in  the  fierce  fight 
against  oiUls  loo  rjcal  ;  so  that  powers  which  may  have  earned 
him  far,  carry  bun  only  a  little  way,  or  leave  him  stranded,  ex- 
lunsted  whcte  ho  beg.ui." 

'Hie  two  men  made  no  comment  after  the  reading,  but 
each  looked  out  of  the  window,  as  if  studying  over  a 
traction  of  the  vast  problem  men  call  lite 

"Where's  the  boy's  people?"  asked  Ramsay. 

"(her  in  . \nclai.e  founty.  but  that  helps  none.  Not 
a  soul  writes  to  the  boy."  The  Healer  arose  and  walked 
across  the  room,  with  head  bowed  down;  suddenly  he 
tinned  and  faced  Ramsay,  and  said. 

"Life,  liberty  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness,  the  Ameri 
can  IVcumcm  says.  Tell  me.  Ramsay,"  he  almost 
shouted,  as  he  clenched  together  his  big  hands,  whose 

touch  was  so  sine  that  they  could  set  the  tiniest  misplaced 


56  EMMETT  LAWLER 

bone,  "how  that  paper  or  the  laws  of  America  help 
Emmett  find  any  of  those  things.  A  humorist  must  have 
written  the  words  about  pursuing  happiness!  that's  all 
any  one  can  do  is  to  pursue  it.  When  you  catch  up  with 
it  you  lose  it.  But  Emmett  can't  even  pursue  it."  The 
Healer  walked  about  again,  while  Ramsay  was  silent. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  resumed  the  Healer,  "the  day  will  come 
when  the  nation  will  care  more  for  its  children.  National 
homes  will  be  in  every  state,  and  the  Nation  will  be  the 
mother  of  orphan  children,  as  it  should  be." 

It  was  a  new  view-point  for  Ramsay,  and  he  was  like 
wise  dumbfounded  at  the  vehemence  of  his  friend,  who 
was  now  thoroughly  aroused  and  went  on, 

"If  the  salvation  of  the  race  is  not  in  the  hands  of 
boys  like  Emmett,  then  where  the  devil  is  it?  That  boy 
is  a  thoroughbred,  as  his  mother  was  before  him.  The 
brains  of  the  race  go  to  the  son  through  the  mother.  Look 
at  Lincoln,  Napoleon,  Alexander — and  God  only  knows 
how  many  others.  It's  the  same  tale  through  the  years. 
Now  why  didn't  your  just  Baptist  God  take  the  lad's 
father?" 

"Not  so  fast,  Doc,  not  so  fast.  I  ain't  been  to  church 
since  some  devil  stole  my  lap-robe,  and  EfBe  had  to  sit 
on  her  mother's  knees  to  keep  'em  warm."  Mrs.  Ramsay 
appeared  at  this  moment. 

"We  were  just  speaking  about  the  goodness  of  God," 
said  the  Healer,  ironically. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  returned,  "His  goodness  is  wonderful." 

"Let's  go  and  see  where  the  children  are,  Doc,"  said 
Ramsay.  The  two  men  walked  out  to  the  road  and  saw 


TWO  FRIENDS  57 

the  children  coming  toward  the  house.  They  walked  to 
meet  them,  and  together  they  went  to  the  house. 

When  night  had  hidden  the  summer  sun,  Sarah  was 
hitched  to  the  buckboard  and  the  visitors  climbed  in  after 
bidding  farewell  to  the  Ramsay  family. 

On  the  way  home  the  Healer  told  Emmett  that  any 
time  he  ran  away  from  Soaroff  he  could  have  a  home  at 
his  house. 

"I'll  be  there  one  of  these  days,"  said  Emmett. 

In  spite  of  boyish  fears  of  SoarofT,  Emmett  decided  to 
run  away  at  the  first  opportunity.  Then  wheat  shocking 
time  arrived. 

Soaroff  and  Emmett  were  shocking  wheat  one  day  when 
the  former  saw  a  neighbor's  chicken  running  in  the  field. 
The  farmer  caught  it,  jerked  its  head  off,  and  threw  the 
quivering  body  across  the  fence. 

He  had  once  attempted  to  cut  this  neighbor  with  a  corn 
knife,  for  which  he  was  prosecuted.  At  this  moment 
another  chicken  flew  over  the  low  fence  into  the  field. 
Soaroff  ordered  Emmett  to  run  it  down  and  kill  it.  The 
lad  flatly  refused.  Solomon  rushed  toward  him  and 
slapped  the  lad  hard  enough  to  knock  him  down.  He 
fell  near  a  pitchfork,  which  stood  upright,  its  prongs 
imbedded  in  the  earth.  The  infuriated  boy  arose  and 
grasped  it,  and  jabbed  desperately  at  the  hulking  brute, 
who  could  do  nothing  but  retreat  before  its  menacing 
prongs. 

Ivy  came  into  the  field  and  calmed  Emmett,  while 
Soaroff  went  to  the  house  where  he  fumed  at  such  base 
ingratitude. 


58  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Emmett,  with  the  blood  of  his  uncle  now  thoroughly 
aroused,  walked  to  the  house  with  the  pitchfork,  while  Ivy 
followed. 

Soaroff  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  summer  kitchen, 
talking  to  his  wife,  whose  rain-barrel  shape  was  now  much 
heavier,  for  she  was  with  child. 

"I'd  show  the  brat  who's  master,  I  would,  Sol.  The 
red-headed  up-start  beggar,  after  all  we've  done  for 
him,"  yelled  Mrs.  Soaroff. 

Emmett  walked  through  the  gate,  which  slammed  shut 
after  him  and  Ivy. 

"I  ain't  your  chicken  killer,  Sol  Soaroff.  Ed  Place  is 
good  to  me  and  I  don't  kill  his  chickens  either.  You  lay 
another  hand  on  me,  and  if  -I  don't  kill  you,  the  Faith 
Healer  will.  He  told  me  to  tell  him  if  you  ever  hit  me 
again." 

Insane  eyes  looked  at  insane  eyes,  while  the  lad  walked 
into  the  house  and  up  to  his  bed,  where  the  reaction  from 
the  emotional  strain  ended  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

He  heard  steps  coming  up  the  stairs,  and  for  a  brief 
moment,  fear  clutched  at  the  nephew  of  Emmett  Des 
mond.  It  was  gone  in  a  flash:  "He  can't  do  no  more 
than  kill  me,"  he  thought.  A  horse-shoe  hung  near  his 
bed,  which  he  had  placed  there  for  "Good  Luck"  months 
before.  He  grasped  it  quickly  and  stood  up.  Solomon 
was  treacherous,  a  fact  which  Emmett  knew  well.  Had 
he  not  concealed  the  corn  cutter  until  he  was  within  strik 
ing  distance  of  Ed  Place?  The  stairway  creaked  under 
his  two  hundred  pounds.  As  his  head  appeared  above  the 
floor  of  the  attic  the  boy  held  the  horseshoe,  ready  to 


TWO  FRIENDS  59 

throw  it.  "Come  any  nearer,  Sol,  and  I  blaze  it  at  you." 
Ivy  climbed  up  the  stairs  and  passed  her  father.  Soaroff 
then  made  peace,  while  Emmett  still  held  the  horse 
shoe. 

Stolid  and  brutal  though  he  was,  Soaroff  was  attached 
to  Emmett  after  a  miserable  fashion.  It  was  Mrs.  Soaroff 
who  was  the  meaner  of  the  two. 


CHANGING  FORTUNES 

THE  next  morning  the  Soaroffs  went  to  help  a  neighbor 
whitewash  the  interior  of  his  home.  Emmett  was  told 
to  remain  and  pull  milk-weeds  in  the  cornfield.  Ivy  and 
the  boy  were  to  be  sent  to  the  neighbors  on  the  back  of 
an  old  horse  later  in  the  morning. 

As  the  lad  bade  Ivy  good-by  her  intuition  made  her 
ask, 

''What's  the  matter,  Emmett?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  he  answered,  as  he  held  her  close.  He 
kissed  her£and  then  walked  with  her  arm  in  arm  to  where 
the  horse  stood  waiting. 

The  heavy  horse  walked  slowly  down  the  road  with 
the  two  children.  Emmett  watched  it  until  it  turned  at 
the  crossing.  He  returned  to  the  house,  and  wrapped  his 
extra  shirt  and  few  belongings  in  a  newspaper.  He  had 
a  large  cigar  box  which  contained  clippings  of  poems  from 
papers.  He  placed  box  and  bundle  under  his  arm  and 
went  to  the  kitchen,  where  the  meowing  of  the  cat  at 
tracted  his  attention.  As  he  entered,  it  rubbed  against 
his  bare  leg,  and  purred.  He  carried  it  into  the  summer 
kitchen  and  poured  milk  for  it  into  a  dish  upon  the  floor. 
He  returned  to  the  parlor. 

As  he  stood  in  the  room  he  was  momentarily  stabbed 

60 


CHANGING  FORTUNES  61 

with  a  sense  of  loneliness.  The  ancient,  beflowered, 
cracked-face  clock  ticked  the  seconds  dolefully. 

Near  him  lay  the  books  which  he  had  pondered  over 
many  times.  He  could  not  know  that  the  reading  of  De 
foe,  Bunyan,  and  the  Bible  had  permeated  his  soul  with 
a  love  for  good  English,  of  which,  not  even  degradation, 
despair,  the  jail,  and  the  prize  ring  would  ever  rob 
him. 

Neither  had  the  wandering  book  agent  known  that  one 
of  his  copies  of  Earth,  Sea  and  Sky  would  impress  a  boy 
for  the  rest  of  his  life.  The  world  was  richer  for  Emmett 
because  of  the  fact  that  an  agent  had  persuaded  two  peo 
ple  who  could  not  read  or  write  to  buy  a  book. 

One  night,  after  Emmett  had  read  aloud  about  the  stars 
whirling  through  vast  oceans  of  space — even  Soaroff 
had  walked  out  to  the  front  yard  and  looked  up  at  them. 
But  Emmett  was  not  thinking  of  these  things. 

He  stood  still  in  the  middle  of  the  room  until  another 
look  at  the  chromos  gave  him  courage  to  leave  it.  He 
shut  the  door  forever  on  his  makeshift  home.  He  broke 
the  cords  which  were  woven  out  of  such  shoddy  material. 
It  is  true  that  Ivy  had  woven  a  cord  of  silk,  which  was  a 
trifle  hard  to  break.  But  the  one  strand  of  silk  was  not 
enough  to  hold  him.  Placing  his  red  hat  on  his  red  curls, 
and  taking  his  box  and  bundle  with  him,  he  walked  out 
of  the  Soaroif  yard — forever. 

A  short  distance  down  the  road  he  looked  back  at  the 
pigeons  flying  in  excited  numbers  above  the  barn.  A 
chicken  hawk  made  spiral  dives  high  above  them. 

Then  a  slight  mist  crept  into  the  valiant  little  wayfarer's 


62  EMMETT  LAWLER 

eyes,  and  he  trudged  onward  in  the  smooth  track  the  pass 
ing  wheels  had  made. 

Mid-summer  in  Ohio  is  like  wine  which  thrills  the 
senses.  The  roads  stretch  across  the  state  as  straight  as 
the  lines  of  a  checkerboard.  Immense  sunflowers  turn 
their  vivid  yellow  faces  toward  the  sun,  and  grow  in  pro 
fusion  by  the  roadside,  like  poplar  trees  along  roads  in 
southern  France. 

Streams  dash  through  forests  as  luxuriant  with  vege 
tation  as  an  island  in  the  Amazon  river.  There  is  a  lure 
about  the  state  which  holds  her  children  forever.  Perhaps 
it  is  only  an  accident  that  many  of  her  sons  become  na 
tional  figures.  That  is  hard  to  explain.  But  it  is  not 
hard  to  explain  why  even  her  most  stupid  children  have 
read  much  in  the  Book  of  Nature. 

The  Faith  Healer's  home  stood  back  from  the  road 
about  a  hundred  feet.  Hollyhocks  grew  in  the  front 
yard,  while  gladioli  flourished  near  the  hewed  log  house. 
The  logs  which  comprised  the  house  had  been  hewed  as 
smooth  as  a  board.  Not  even  a  mark  of  the  adz  had  been 
left  upon  their  surface.  The  plaster  between  the  logs  was 
also  smooth. 

A  neighbor  farmed  the  Healer's  five  acres  for  a  share 
of  the  produce  raised.  The  Healer  divided  his  time 
among  his  books,  his  garden,  and  his  art  of  healing. 

It  was  said  that  no  man  in  the  county  had  ever  owed 
him  a  dollar  that  he  had  not  paid.  He  never  made  a 
specified  charge,  but  invariably  asked,  "What's  it  been 
worth  to  you?" 

Once  a  poor  woman  had  sent  him  five  hens,  after  he 


CHANGING  FORTUNES  63 

had  helped  her  daughter  who  had  suffered  with  a  dis 
located  spine.  He  sent  the  hens  back  with  a  large  pet 
rooster  of  his  own,  telling  her  that  every  time  the  rooster 
crowed  it  was  to  remind  her  that  she  possessed  that  rarest 
of  human  virtues — gratitude. 

The  story  spread  over  the  countryside  and  many  peo 
ple  saw  the  proud  rooster  strutting  before  the  widow's 
home.  He  lived  until  age  made  his  soldier  step  less  firm, 
and  his  eyes  became  so  bleared  they  failed  to  notice  the 
prettiest  young  hen  that  cackled  near  him. 

The  Healer  was  working  in  his  garden  when  Emmett 
drew  near.  "Why,  hello,  lad!"  he  exclaimed,  as  Emmett 
slipped  up  close  to  him.  He  looked  at  the  box  and 
bundles  under  Emmett's  arm,  and  said,  "Made  your  get 
away,  eh !  Now  what'll  I  do  if  Solomon  comes  over  here 
with  a  corn  cutter?" 

The  boy  clutched  the  Healer's  giant  forearm  and  looked 
at  it  admiringly.  Then  he  looked  up  into  his  tanned 
face  and  said,  "You  know  you  don't  have  to  be  afraid." 

"I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do,  lad,— we'll  invite  Sol  to 
come  to  dinner  and  send  Sarah  after  him,  and  before  she 
gets  him  here  he'll  be  an  old,  old  man,  and  you  can  lick 
him  all  alone."  He  placed  his  arm  about  the  boy  and 
walked  to  the  house  with  him. 

Emmett  immediately  relaxed.  He  was  now  as  free  as 
the  woodpeckers  in  the  woods  nearby.  But  still,  a  worry 
came,  for  fear  that  Soaroff  would  make  him  return.  Im 
pulsively  he  said  to  the  Healer,  "You'll  not  let  him  take 
me  back,  will  you?"  The  Healer  was  startled  at  the 
vibrant  emotion  with  which  the  question  was  asked.  The 


64  EMMETT  LAWLER 

boy  stood,  his  red  hat  barely  resting  on  his  tangled  head 
of  red  curls,  like  a  sensitive  prisoner  awaiting  the  decision 
of  his  judge. 

Two  years  of  Soaroff  would  have  been  enough  to  break 
the  heart  of  a  lion.  The  old  Healer  knew  his  kind.  His 
seer-like  eyes  read  them  as  though  they  were  simple 
problems  on  the  blackboard  of  the  district  school.  He 
saw  the  blue  veins  swell  in  the  boy's  white  forehead,  and 
the  tears  fall  in  his  sad  eyes. 

He  gathered  the  orphan  in  his  arms,  and  the  young 
sailor  and  world-roving  fighter  of  other  days  spoke  in 
words  of  tense  passion. 

"Listen,  lad,  Soaroff  and  his  nine  brothers  and  John  L. 
Sullivan  and  Jim  Corbett  can't  take  you  from  here  till 
you  want  to  go." 

"Gosh,"  sobbed  the  boy,  as  he  threw  his  arms  about  the 
Healer,  "I'm  so  glad." 

"But  it's  dinner  time,  lad,"  said  the  Healer,  looking  up 
at  the  sun,  for  he  could  tell  the  time  by  the  position  of  the 
sun  in  the  sky.  He  handed  Emmett  a  pail.  "Run  to  the 
garden  and  dig  enough  spuds  for  two,  and  bring  anything 
you  see  there,  and  I'll  put  the  coffee  on  the  fire." 

Before  long  the  Healer  had  a  tempting  vegetable  din 
ner  upon  the  table.  "Now,  lad,"  he  said,  "I'll  get  you 
meat  if  you  want  it.  I  don't  eat  it  for  several  reasons, 
here  at  the  house  anyhow.  I  relish  chicken,  but  haven't 
the  heart  to  kill  my  own,  and  I  could  no  more  kill  a  calf  or 
lamb  than  I  could  kiss  Soaroff.  Then  I  have  noticed  that 
many  strong  animals  never  eat  meat." 


CHANGING  FORTUNES  65 

"I  don't  care  about  it,"  said  Emmett.  "What's  good 
enough  for  you  suits  me." 

"Of  course,"  went  on  the  Healer  as  he  ate  a  potato  with 
the  jacket  on,  "I'm  no  fanatic  on  eating,  but  I  do  think 
that  many  a  giant  digs  his  grave  with  his  teeth.  Remem 
ber  Dr.  Slivel,  over  in  Van  Wert.  Well,  he  was  a  fine 
man,  but  he  tried  to  cure  people  and  he  didn't  even  un 
derstand  his  own  body.  He  became  fat,  because  his  ap 
petite  ruled  his  brain,  and  he  died  at  fifty.  That  is  too 
young  an  age  to  die  and  leave  a  country  like  Ohio." 

A  voice  was  heard  outside,  calling,  "Hey,  Doc." 

"That's  Ramsay,"  said  the  Healer. 

"Just  drivin'  by,"  said  Ramsay ;  "no  time  to  stop  long ; 
got  to  make  Van  Wert  yet  to-day."  His  sleek  driving 
horse  stood  impatient  by  the  roadside. 
+  "Hello,  Emmett,"  exclaimed  the  County  Commissioner. 
"Glad  to  see  you  here."  He  handed  the  Healer  some 
money.  "There's  my  end  of  it,  Doc,"  he  said. 

"I'll  take  him  to  Van  Wert  Saturday,"  said  the  Healer. 

"Mum's  the  word,"  cautioned  Ramsay. 

"All  right,"  said  the  Healer,  "but  I'd  tell  them  to  go  to 
the  devil ;  you  don't  need  the  office." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  replied  Ramsay,  "but  a  fellow  has  to 
I  do  something." 

With  an  impetuous,  "Well,  so  long,  see  you  later,"  the 
>man  blended  of  shrewdness  and  kindness  hurried  down 
the  road. 

The  Healer  and  Emmett  returned  to  the  house  and 
cleared  the  dishes  from  the  table.  Within  a  short  time 


66  EMMETT  LAWLER 

two  women  called  to  pay  the  Healer  some  money.  Boy- 
like,  Emmett  blithely  told  them  that  he  had  run  away  from 
Soaroffs. 

News  spread  in  country  districts  almost  as  fast  as  gos 
sip  in  an  Irish  village.  The  telephone  was  then  a  new 
device  in  the  country  section,  and  women  kept  the  wires 
busy  with  trivial  happenings  of  local  interest. 

The  two  women  were  heralds  of  the  news.  The  news 
buzzed  over  the  wire  to  the  Layers'  home  where  the 
Soaroffs  were. 

"Well,  I'll  swan,"  exclaimed  the  startled  Mrs.  Layers, 
"Sallie  Soaroff,  your  orphan  kid's  run  away."  The 
startled  Sallie  arose  from  the  table,  and  was  followed 
quickly^by  Soaroff  and  Layers.  The  three  stood  near  the 
telephone  while  the  news  came  over  the  wire.  "He's  at 
the  Healer's,"  ejaculated  the  woman,  while  the  listeners 
looked  amazement. 

"Well,  good-by,  Mrs.  Barnes,  call  me  up  any  time,"  she 
said  and  turned  to  the  others. 

Mrs.  Layers  hurriedly  told  a  twisted  version  of  the 
runaway,  which  Solomon  hardly  waited  to  hear.  Ivy 
had  been  a  silent  listener.  The  girl  turned  and  walked 
to  the  supper  table  again.  She  sank  into  a  chair  and  laid 
her  head  on  the  table.  As  though  she  could  no  longer 
restrain  her  silent  grief,  she  sobbed  aloud. 

Mrs.  Soaroff  tried  to  calm  her,  "Why,  Ivy,  the  like  o' 
you  cryin'  over  an  orphan  brat  like  him." 

Solomon  reappeared,  followed  by  Layers.  Solomon's 
impulse  to  go  to  the  Healer's  after  the  boy  had  been 
replaced  by  more  solid  judgment  after  a  talk  with  Layers. 


CHANGING  FORTUNES  67 

"Couldn't  git  him  back  nohow,  if  I  went,"  said  Solo 
mon. 

Solomon  acted  for  some  days  afterward  as  though 
something  had  gone  out  of  his  life. 

Mrs.  Soaroff  mumbled,  "Course  he'd  have  to  run  off 
jist  'fore  corn-cuttin'  time.  That's  what  a  body  gits  for 
raisin'  some  other  woman's  brat." 

Ivy  rode  the  plow  horse  home,  while  the  other  three 
Soaroffs  rode  home  in  the  buggy.  They  were  silent  in 
the  rig,  as  the  good  qualities  of  the  runaway  boy  came 
before  their  stunted  visions. 

Ivy's  heart  was  heavy,  and  as  the  old  horse  stumbled 
slowly  along,  she  cried  softly  and  her  face  was  wet  with 
tears.     She  knew  now  what  the  morning  kiss  was  for, 
and  why  Emmett  had  held  her  in  his  arms. 
„     When  they  entered  the  house  SoarofI  looked  at  "Pil 
grim's  Progress"  and  then  buried  his  small  head  in  his 
'big  hands  and  sat  motionless  for  a  long,  long  time. 

Farewell,  Ivy,  sweet  offspring  of  insane  first  cousins 
whom  brilliant  lawmakers  allowed  to  marry.  You  heard 
death's  fingers  tapping  upon  the  window  of  your  life  a 
few  years  later.  And  the  fingers  never  broke  the  glass 
of  a  nobler  little  life  than  your  own.  Sleep  peacefully, 
Ivy,  for 

Nothing  begins  and  nothing  ends, 
That  is  not  paid  with  moan, 
For  we  are  born  in  others'  pain — , 
And  perish  in  our  own. 


EVENTS 

A  MID-SUMMER  twilight  in  Ohio  is  the  very  essence  of 
wonder.  It  comes,  like  a  beautiful  maiden,  and  fills  the 
land  with  sensuous  delight.  Birds  chatter  and  quarrel  in 
the  trees  before  sleep  overtakes  them.  At  times  the  sun 
sinks  in  mountains  of  clouds,  and  tinges  them  with  colors 
beyond  the  dreams  of  artists.  They  take  on  fantastic 
shapes,  and  once  a  cloud  looked  to  Emmett  like  the  pro 
file  of  a  man. 

Another  time,  a  cloud  stood  near  the  sun,  in  the  shape 
of  an  elephant.  Its  trunk  was  dipped  into  the  sun,  and 
it  seemed  as  though  it  were  drinking  fire  from  it. 

When  all  has  faded,  and  before  night  has  completely 
covered  the  world,  the  fire-flies  fly  over  the  fields  in 
swarms.  Their  lights  flare  for  a  brief  second  and  go 
out,  to  flare  again.  They  used  to  remind  Emmett  of 
thousands  of  invisible  little  birds,  carrying  very  tiny 
electric  lights  which  they  continually  turned  off  and  on. 

The  Healer  and  Emmett  were  seated  in  the  front  yard 
during  the  twilight  hour.  The  yard  commanded  an  open 
view  to  the  west.  The  Faith  Healer  had  a  swing,  made 
out  of  the  branches  of  trees,  by  his  own  hands.  The 
swing  was  sometimes  his  haven  long  into  the  night.  This 
night,  he  expected  Soaroff.  Sometimes  a  rig  would  pass, 
and  voices  could  be  heard  in  it.  The  clatter  of  the  horse's 

68 


EVENTS  69 

hoofs  faded  into  the  nothingness  of  sound,  and  that  was 
all.  No  Soaroff  came. 

Emmett,  with  the  curiosity  of  an  imaginative  boy,  often 
wondered  why  the  Healer  happened  to  be  in  the  back 
woods  of  Ohio.  He  contrasted  the  Healer's  surroundings 
with  those  of  his  neighbors !  He  did  not  even  own  a  red 
plush-covered  family  album.  His  living-room  contained 
no  dreadful  chromos.  There  was  not  even  a  framed 
scroll  in  the  house  with  the  words  printed  thereon,  "God 
Bless  Our  Home."  The  pictures  in  his  room  had  an 
individuality  all  their  own.  And  books  were  every 
where. 

There  were  five  volumes  by  a  man  named  Gibbon,  and 
they  told  all  about  Rome.  Emmett  read  those  volumes. 
In  one  place  he  read  how  a  Roman  in  high  authority  con 
ceived  the  idea  of  having  the  many  slaves  wear  uniforms, 
so  that  they  might  be  distinguished  from  the  people  who 
rode  upon  their  backs.  But  a  more  cautious  Roman 
thought  the  idea  worthless,  as  it  would  acquaint  the  slaves 
with  their  vast  number,  and  if  they  realized  their  power 
they  might  rise  and  tear  the  Roman  Empire  to  pieces. 

There  was  another  book  almost  as  large  as  the  Earth, 
Sea  and  Sky  book  at  Soaroffs !  It  was  called  Plutarch's 
Lives.  He  read  about  a  woman  who  was  not  quite  as 
holy  as  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  the  Greek  Prudes  scorned 
her.  Her  son  became  a  great  man  and  she  felt  that  they 
could  not  rob  her  of  the  honor  of  being  his  mother,  so 
she  said, 

Let  the  Greek  women  scorn  me  as  they  please, 
I  was  the  mother  of  Themistocles. 


70  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Then  there  was  a  steel  engraving,  not  over  eight  inches 
long,  and  six  inches  wide.  It  crowded  a  lot  of  country,  a 
stone  house,  and  a  girl  in  that  small  place. 

The  young  lady  was  seated  on  the  steps  of  the  stone 
house  in  an  unconventional  pose. 

It  was  just  as  though  she  had  been  resting  there  and 
the  artist  had  caught  her  in  a  glorious  moment  of  womanly 
charm. 

Her  hair  waved  in  heavy  masses.  Her  face  was 
wreathed  in  smiles.  Her  even  white  teeth  and  merry 
eyes  gave  the  picture  so  much  life  that  Emmett  would 
not  have  been  surprised  had  she  risen  to  continue  her 
walk  among  the  flowers.  She  became  Emmett's  dream 
woman  ever  since  he  first  saw  her  picture,  months  before. 

The  lad  wanted  to  hear  about  her,  but  he  had  ever 
had,  perhaps  an  inherited  instinct  from  his  mother,  an 
innate  sense  of  delicacy,  which  kept  him  then  from  pry 
ing  into  the  personal  affairs  of  others. 

Would  the  Healer  tell  him  about  the  girl  if  he  asked? 
He  had  never  paid  a  visit  to  the  Healer  without  looking 
at  the  picture.  He  knew  its  every  line.  .  .  .  Away  back 
in  the  distance  the  ocean  met  the  land,  and  great  rocks, 
like  women's  fingers,  pointed  to  the  sky.  A  tiny  road 
wound  its  way,  like  a  yellow  string,  through  the  picture. 

Emmett  was  thinking  of  the  picture  now  as  he  sat  in 
the  swing  with  the  Healer. 

It  became  tensely  quiet,  and  even  the  fireflies  were  tak 
ing  their  lights  home  with  them.  The  boy  leaned  close 
to  the  Healer,  with  a  daring  resolve  in  his  heart.  The 
Healer  surely  wouldn't  think  he  was  nosey,  would  he? 


EVENTS  71 

He  would  not  have  hurt  his  feelings  for  the  world — for 
the  good  man  filled  his  small  life  like  a  Colossus. 

He  respected  him  so  much  that  he  started  to  call  him 
"Mister,"  a  title  little  used  in  that  country.  The  Healer 
would  not  have  it,  so  the  boy  never  addressed  him  by  any 
name  at  all  when  he  spoke  to  him. 

It  would  have  been  easier  for  Emmett  to  have  slapped 
God  on  the  back,  than  to  have  called  the  Healer  "Doc," 
as  some  of  the  people  did. 

They  sat  for  some  time  without  speaking.  Finally, 
the  boy  hesitated  no  longer,  and  broke  the  silence  by  say 
ing, 

"Won't  you  tell  me  a  story?  Something  about  the 
ocean,  or  ships,  or,  or — that  pretty  girl  in  the  picture  I  like 
so  well?" 

The  Healer  remained  quiet  for  a  few  seconds,  and  the 
boy,  as  if  in  defense,  went  on, 

"I'll  never  tell  a  soul,  if  you  say  so.  I  was  licked 
hard  at  the  Home  for  not  tellin'  on  kids.  I'm  a  good 
'keep  stiller/  I  am."  A  phrase  he  had  learned  at  the 
Home. 

The  Healer  was  touched.  "All  right,  lad,  I'll  tell  you 
about  a  ship." 

"No,  no!  Tell  me  about  the  girl,  I  like  her." 

The  ghost  in  the  closet  of  the  Faith  Healer's  life 
danced  before  his  eyes.  He  struggled  with  the  suppressed 
longings  of  years.  And  the  orphan  boy  sat  twirling  the 
key  in  his  hands. 

The  Great  Dipper  was  vivid  in  the  sky,  and  the  Healer 
used  to  note  its  changed  positions  at  different  seasons 


72  EMMETT  LAWLER 

of  the  year.     He  watched  it  now  for  a  moment,  then 
began : 

"Well,  lad,  once  there  was  a  boy  who  had  no  hard 
knocks  like  you've  had.  His  father  was  a  doctor  away 
over  in  England.  He  loved  a  girl  with  hair  the  color  of 
yours.  But  that  makes — but  it's  a  long  story,  lad,  and 
the  picture  you  like  is  all  that's  left  of  the  girl."  He 
talked  slowly,  as  though  every  word  pained  him.  "Well 
— his  father,  mother  and  the  girl  all  went  away  within 
two  years.  The  boy  and  girl  used  to  look  out  over  the 
ocean  and  talk  about  America,  three  thousand  miles  away. 
That  was  at  Land's  End.  After  she  went  away  to  the 
silent  country,  the  boy,  who  was  no  longer  a  boy  then, 
but  a  young  man  with  three  years'  study  of  medicine 
to  his  credit — well,  he  had  many  notions  in  his  head,  and 
he  wanted  life,  any  kind  of  life,  so  he  went  wherever 
ships  took  him.  He  had  a  passion  for  anatomy,  that's 
about  the  bones  of  the  body,  lad,  and  for  years  he  read 
all  he  could  find  about  the  bones  and  the  mind.  He  wan 
dered  over  the  world  for  ten  years,  and  no  one  knew  who 
he  was,  or  cared.  But  he  read  books  and  lived  a  full 
life.  He  thought  a  great  deal  as  the  ship  plowed  slowly 
through  the  waves  away  out  in  the  ocean.  One  time  in 
Melbourne,  that's  in  Australia,  he  met  a  sailor  from  Ohio. 
After  talking  to  the  sailor,  the  boy  took  the  funny  notion 
of  buying  a  little  farm  in  an  inland  place  like  Ohio, 
where  he  would  be  away  from  the  ocean  forever.  So  the 
boy  is  now  over  seventy  years  old,  and  he's  been  on  his 
little  farm  over  thirty  years.  But  the  little  farm  was 
a  black  woods  then."  The  Healer  stopped  a  moment,  then 


EVENTS  73 

continued,  "And  you're  the  only  one  I've  ever  told,  even 
so  little.  Remember,  lad,  you're  a  good  'keep  stiller.'  " 

They  soon  retired  for  the  night.  The  boy  lay  awake  a 
long  time,  and  wondered  about  the  girl  asleep  in  Land's 
End,  and  the  Healer.  He  heard  the  roosters  crowing,  and 
he  knew  that  it  must  be  midnight.  Presently  the  clock 
struck  twelve.  The  boy's  mind  tried  to  solve  why  a 
simple  fowl  crowed  near  midnight.  He  wondered  at  last 
about  Ivy,  and  why  she  was  different  from  the  other 
Soar  off  s.  Then  he  thought  of  his  mother. 

That  night  he  dreamed  that  he  saw  Ivy  and  his  own 
mother  driving  a  spirited  black  stallion,  hitched  to  a  brand 
new  rubber-tired  buggy,  past  the  Healer's  home.  Ivy's 
hair  was  very  black,  and  her  face  was  deathly  white. 
His  mother's  hair  was  a  brilliant  red,  and  very  long  and 
the  wind  swept  it  backward  until  it  resembled  the  flame 
of  a  great  torch,  flying  through  a  tempest  at  night.  Her 
face  was  even  whiter  than  Ivy's — a  ghastly  terrible  white. 
Her  slender  hands  clutched  the  lines,  as  she  leaned  for 
ward  in  tense  position,  as  Emmett  had  seen  drivers  of 
fast  trotting  horses  sit,  in  lithograph  pictures  of  races 
held  at  the  County  Fair.  The  horse  literally  flew.  Em 
mett  dashed  madly  after  them,  and  as  he  ran,  the  buggy 
turned  into  a  hearse,  which  faded  from  sight.  He  awoke 
sobbing.  He  could  not  shake  the  effect  of  the  dream. 
The  Healer  was  breathing  regularly,  his  arm  stretched 
across  his  bed.  Emmett  crawled  into  the  bed  with  him 
and  laid  his  head  upon  the  Healer's  arm. 

When  day  streaked  its  rays  of  light  through  the  house, 
Emmett  was  awakened  by  the  Healer,  who  had  risen  long 


74  EMMETT  LAWLER 

before  him.  The  odor  of  breakfast  filled  the  house. 
"Come  on,  lad,  we'll  drive  to  Van  Wert  to-day,  instead  of 
Saturday.  We'll  have  to  start  early  with  old  Sarah." 

Emmett  had  gone  to  Van  Wert  once  with  Soaroff  to 
hear  William  McKinley  speak.  He  stood  very  close  to 
him  at  the  time,  and  the  picture  he  made  has  never  been 
erased  from  his  memory.  McKinley's  face  fascinated 
him.  It  was  sharp,  like  an  eagle's.  His  clothes  fitted 
him  so  well,  and  his  figure  was  so  handsome.  He  started 
his  speech  by  saying,  "Fellow  Citizens  of  Ohio,  my  own 
loved  state,"  and  the  words  thrilled  Emmett.  He  knew 
McKinley's  history — how  he  had  worked  on  a  farm,  and 
had  then  taught  school.  Try  as  he  would,  Emmett  could 
not  imagine  the  handsome,  great  man  ever  having  been 
a  farm  laborer.  He  was  a  god  to  Emmett,  from  an 
other  world. 

Old  Sarah  jogged  along  the  road,  as  if  she  was  con 
scious  of  the  fact  that  Emmett  was  to  have  new  clothes. 
That  fact  had  not  as  yet  dawned  on  Emmett.  The 
Healer  had  reserved  that  as  a  surprise. 

Sarah  tried  to  turn  in  at  the  Ramsay  home,  but  when 
the  line  was  jerked  slightly  she  resumed  her  slow  jog 
past  the  house.  Emmett  waved  at  Effie,  who  stood  in  the 
doorway. 

At  last  the  Ridge  Road  was  reached,  where  many 
vehicles  traveled.  This  road  was  a  scenic  highway,  and 
it  stretched  for  miles,  and  all  lesser  roads  from  Lima  to 
Fort  Wayne  ran  toward  it.  All  the  country  people  felt 
relieved  when  they  came  to  the  Ridge  Road.  Old  Sarah 
even  took  on  a  new  lease  of  life.  She  perked  up  her 


EVENTS  75 

ears  like  an  ancient  race  horse,  who  feels  the  track  under 
its  feet  once  more. 

But  Van  Wert  looked  different  now  than  it  did  the  day 
McKinley  had  been  there.  At  that  time,  like  the  man 
who  could  not  see  the  forest  for  the  trees,  Emmett  could 
not  see  the  town  for  the  people.  The  principal  street 
was  a  source  of  never-ending  delight  to  him.  The  girls 
on  the  street  were  dressed  so  neatly,  but  they  were  "town 
kids"  and  the  boy  felt  the  social  gulf  between  them. 
The  court  house  stood  on  the  main  street.  It  was  a  vast 
building  to  the  boy,  and  men  loitered  in  front  of  it  just 
as  though  it  was  a  country  store.  A  great  bell  donged 
out  the  hour  from  the  tower. 

A  town  boy  sneered  at  Emmett's  red  hat,  and  said, 
"Where  you  goin',  rube?"  Emmett  was  indignant  and 
.before  the  Healer  could  turn  around  he  was  cuffing  the 
boy  soundly.  The  Healer  led  him  away. 

They  entered  a  general  store  where  the  Healer  bought 
a  new  suit,  and  new  shoes,  and  many  things  for  Emmett. 
The  lad  walked  out  of  the  store  like  an  Alexander  with 
a  new  world  under  his  arm. 

As  they  reached  the  Ramsays*  on  their  return  journey 
the  Healer  said,  "Thank  Ramsay  for  the  clothes,  lad,  he's 
a  good  sort."  When  Emmett  thanked  him  Ramsay  said, 
"Tut,  tut,"  and  held  his  hand  over  the  boy's  mouth. 

They  stayed  some  hours  at  the  Ramsays*  and  it  was  late 
when  they  reached  home. 

There  followed,  for  Emmett,  the  happiest  period  of  his 
life.  There  was  just  enough  work  on  the  five  acres  to 
keep  him  from  becoming  restless.  When  winter  came  the 


76  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Healer  bought  him  some  books  and  sent  him  to  the  Dis 
trict  School.  He  trudged  thither  each  morning  with  his 
noonday  lunch  in  a  granite  dinner  pail.  He  went  to 
"Spelling  Bees"  over  the  township,  and  when  Emmett 
became  the  champion  speller  of  the  district  the  Healer 
was  as  proud  of  him  as  though  he  had  been  the  son  of 
the  girl  asleep  in  Land's  End. 

He  stayed  at  Erne's  house  during  the  Holidays.  They 
played  "Postoffice"  on  Christmas  Eve.  It  was  a  game 
in  which  the  girl  called  the  boy  of  her  choice  into  a  room 
and  kissed  him.  Effie  called  Emmett,  and  gave  him  an 
extra  hug  for  good  measure.  They  left  the  room  to 
gether  and  the  other  girls  noticed  Effie's  flushed  face,  and 
teased  her  about  it.  Effie  liked  Emmett,  and  her  every 
action  showed  it. 

Her  father's  position,  combined  with  her  natural 
beauty,  made  her  the  most  sought  after  young  lady  in  the 
vicinity  some  years  later.  But  a  homeless  red-headed 
boy  was  the  first  to  march  like  a  laughing  soldier  through 
the  portals  of  her  heart. 

It  had  long  been  the  Healer's  habit  to  spend  Christmas 
at  the  Ramsays',  and  this  Christmas  was  no  exception. 
Snow  was  on  the  ground,  and  Sarah  was  slightly  lame, 
so  Ramsay  drove  over  for  the  Healer. 

The  Healer  looked  about  the  place  before  he  left,  and 
placed  feed  for  his  chickens  and  other  animals,  and  shook 
a  great  armful  of  straw  beneath  Sarah.  He  then  filled 
her  manger  with  hay,  and  fastened  her  blanket  upon  her 
more  securely. 

Sarah  was  a  wearily  wise  old  mare.    Years  and  years 


EVENTS  77 

before  she  had  played  the  Healer  false,  but  like  a  kind 
man,  who  forgives  an  erring  woman,  the  Healer  had 
allowed  that  incident  to  fade  into  the  mists  of  obscurity. 

Sarah  had  once  been  with  colt,  and  the  Healer  proudly 
expected  a  son  or  daughter,  the  replica  of  herself.  And 
Sarah  ushered  into  the  world,  the  son  of  a  Missouri 
Jack.  The  mortified  Healer  had  to  raise  it,  though  the 
vicious  little  mule  kicked  even  its  own  mother.  Sarah 
would  look  at  the  long  ears  of  her  half-breed  son,  and 
hang  her  head  in  shame. 

This,  of  course,  had  happened  when  Sarah  was  quite 
young,  and  though  she  later  became  a  gentle  mare,  she 
would  always  become  like  a  wild  horse  of  Arabia  if  a 
mule  even  so  much  as  looked  at  her. 

When  the  Healer  was  safely  seated  in  the  sleigh  with 
Ramsay,  the  Commissioner  drove  his  horse  along  as 
though  there  was  no  beauty  to  be  seen  on  either  side 
of  the  road.  It  had  always  been  that  way  with  the 
County  Commissioner.  He  had  probably  read  in  his 
copy-book  that  it  was  a  sin  to  squander  time.  The  wise 
men  of  the  ages  have  shown  that  to  squander  time  cor 
rectly  was  the  beginning  of  every  virtue.  But  a  wise  man 
in  Ramsay's  opinion  was  one  who  owned  a  great  farm, 
and  much  money.  He  might  think  that  the  name  Shakes 
peare  was  that  of  a  new  breakfast  food,  but  that  would 
not  have  worried  Ramsay.  The  Healer  owned  but  five 
acres  and  an  old  mare,  so  what  did  his  learning  get  him. 
That  there  were  some  people  in  the  world  who  might  have 
envied  the  Healer,  and  not  himself,  would  have  never 
occurred  to  Ramsay.  So  he  sped  on  through  the  beautiful 


78  EMMETT  LAWLER 

white  country,  as  unconscious  of  it  all  as  an  ox  in  an 
English  lane. 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  the  Ramsay  home.  When 
the  Healer  entered  the  room  Emmett  presented  him  with 
a  pair  of  driving  gloves,  while  Effie  gave  him  a  new  scarf. 
His  habit  of  leaving  his  shirt  open  at  the  throat  worried 
Effie. 

Presents  were  exchanged  all  around,  and  the  happy 
Christmas  sped  away  on  the  eagle  wings  of  pleasure. 
There  never  had  been  such  a  dinner.  Emmett  nudged  the 
Healer  when  he  saw  him  take  a  generous  portion  of 
turkey. 

Other  company  came,  and  before  long  the  house  was 
full  of  people. 

Time  often  steals  everything  from  life,  but  memory. 
It  tinges  the  pleasant  hours  of  the  past  with  an  outline 
of  sadness.  But,  as  if  not  to  be  too  harsh,  it  blurs  the 
memory  of  unhappy  days.  If  it  were  otherwise,  the 
accumulated  sorrows  of  mankind  would  crush  them. 

New  Year's  came,  and  laid  a  new  century  upon  the  door 
step  of  the  world.  The  rustics  who  predicted  the  world's 
end  at  SoaronV,  were  proven  in  time  to  be  slightly  mis 
taken.  Though  it  did  end,  for  some  of  them.  Emmett 
watched  their  funerals  winding  to  the  churchyard  on  cold 
winter  days. 

The  lad  read  during  much  of  his  spare  time.  He  found 
the  Healer  a  mine  of  information  on  every  conceivable 
subject.  The  boy  was  another  Boswell  asking  the  great 
Johnson  question  after  question. 


EVENTS  79 

Emmett  had  always  contended  that  the  Faith  Healer 
was  a  great  man.  He  was  at  a  dinner,  years  later,  when 
the  question  of  greatness  in  men  came  up.  A  journalist, 
back  from  a  world  tour,  and  filled  with  the  glamour  of 
this  and  that  petty  man,  ridiculed  the  idea  that  a  great  man 
could  be  satisfied  to  live  as  the  Healer  lived.  Emmett 
pointed  out  that  Fabre  lived  among  his  beetles  in  a  quiet 
spot  in  France.  That  Christ  walked,  with  bare  feet,  the 
roads  about  Jerusalem.  That  Grant  was  the  driver  of  an 
old  horse,  in  a  small  town,  at  forty-eight.  The  company 
laughingly  allowed  the  Healer  a  place  with  great  men. 
The  Healer  dared  to  live  his  life  in  the  way  that  he 
wished  to  live  it,  and  that  is  the  essence  of  greatness. 

That  never-to-be-forgotten  winter  was  early  kissed  on 
its  aging  cheek  by  spring.  Filled  with  the  melting  snow, 
the  creeks  dashed  along  like  swollen  miniature  rivers. 
The  brightly  painted  buggies  and  spirited  horses  of  the 
young  men  made  their  appearance  on  the  roads.  On  Sun 
day  they  would  stop  at  the  Healer's  home,  and  their  sweet 
hearts  would  bring  him  cakes  and  jams  made  with  their 
own  labor  and  love.  The  Healer  preached  no  religion, 
and  entered  no  church,  but  he  was  loved  by  these  people 
for  the  Christ  heart  that  beat  within  his  bosom.  The 
young  girl,  whom  he  had  cured  years  before,  and  to 
whose  mother  he  had  sent  the  rooster,  came  one  Sunday 
and  presented  him  with  a  great  white  cake,  imbedded  in 
which  was  blue  and  red  dots  of  candy. 

An  old  Italian  peddler  had  frequented  the  country  for 
over  twenty  years,  and  he  would  always  stay  overnight 


8o  EMMETT  LAWLER 

with  the  Healer.  He  never  recovered  from  his  astonish 
ment  at  having  found  a  man  in  the  country  who  had 
touched  the  shores  of  his  native  town  in  Italy. 

One  hot  day  in  early  summer  Emmett  and  the  Healer 
were  seated  in  the  shade  of  a  giant  elm  tree,  in  the  rear 
of  the  barn.  This  tree  measured  over  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  from  tip  to  tip  of  its  branches.  The  old  man 
had  watched  it  carefully  for  years.  His  science  of  heal 
ing  had  even  extended  to  trees,  and  all  cuts  and  incisions 
which  he  had  made  in  the  tree  had  been  completely  and 
permanently  healed.  Its  branches  had  been  trimmed  so 
that  it  was  perfect  in  symmetry. 

A  haze  spread  over  the  landscape,  and  save  for  the 
drone  of  bees  and  the  noise  of  crows  in  the  woods,  all 
nature  was  still. 

The  Healer  said,  "It's  great  to  be  alive,  lad,  and  just 
think,  I'll  soon  be  seventy-three  years  old,  and  never  an 
ache  or  a  pain."  He  looked  across  the  field  where  a 
white  rooster  stood,  crowing  upon  a  straw  stack.  "I'd 
like  to  round  out  twenty-seven  more  years  here,"  he  said, 
as  he  looked  at  Emmett.  "You'll  be  quite  a  man  by  that 
time,  Emmett.  You  can  cross  many  a  bridge  in  that 
time, — yes,  indeed.  But  one  of  these  days,  I  shall  make 
a  will  and  leave  you  the  five  acres." 

"I  hope  you  live  to  be  a  hundred,  and  I  know  you  will," 
said  Emmett. 

That  night,  at  dusk,  a  man  rode  to  the  Healer's  home 
on  a  yellow  mule.  His  wife  had  been  bitten  by  a  rattle 
snake,  and  it  was  soon  time  for  a  new  baby.  Would  the 
Healer  come  ? 


EVENTS  81 

Emmett  ran  to  hitch  Sarah  to  the  buckboard,  and  when 
this  was  done  he  led  her  out  in  the  road  where  the  Healer 
and  the  farmer  stood  near  the  panting,  sweating  mule. 

Emmett  wanted  to  go  along,  but  the  Healer  said,  "I'm 
looking  for  Ramsay  to-night,  lad.  You'd  better  stay 
home  and  explain  why  I  could  not  be  here." 

Mule  and  rider,  Sarah  and  the  Healer  were  soon  lost 
in  the  gathering  darkness. 

Within  an  hour  Ramsay  came,  accompanied  by  Effie. 
Emmett  explained  the  Healer's  absence  to  him.  He  left 
some  papers  for  the  Healer,  and  despite  Effie's  coaxing, 
was  quickly  on  his  way. 

Emmett  read  until  his  eyes  grew  heavy.  He  bathed 
them  in  cold  water,  in  order  to  drive  sleep  away  so  that 
he  might  finish  the  last  chapter  of  Gibbon.  Finally  he 
came  to  the  end,  where  the  great  historian  told  how  he 
conceived  the  idea  of  writing  the  History  of  Rome  in  the 
ruins  of  the  Capitol,  and  how  it  had  taken  nearly  twenty 
years  of  his  life.  Marveling  at  the  patience  of  Gibbon, 
he  closed  his  tired  eyes. 

There  was  a  negro  farmer  in  the  township,  beloved  by 
all  who  knew  him.  He  used  to  remind  Emmett  of  the 
picture  he  had  seen  of  Old  Black  Joe.  He  rode  through 
the  country  district  that  night  like  another  Paul  Revere. 
He  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  Healer's  home,  and  when 
Emmett  opened  it  he  refused  to  enter,  but  stood,  a 
withered  ebony  figure  in  the  moonlight.  Emmett  rubbed 
his  eyes  in  the  doorway  while  the  negro  watched  the 
wind  play  through  the  boy's  curls. 

"Well,  Emmie,"  he  said,  "the  Faith  Healer's  dead." 


82  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Everything  turned  black  in  front  of  the  boy,  and  he 
fell  forward  in  the  negro's  arms.  The  scared  darky  laid 
down  his  burden  and  brought  water  from  the  well  and 
dashed  it  in  the  lad's  face.  Emmett  revived,  and  looked 
pitifully  up  at  the  moon,  which  now  glimmered  faintly  be 
fore  his  tear-filled  eyes,  as  he  said  weakly,  "Lord  Al 
mighty,  Sam,  how  did  it  happen?" 

"The  Flyer  hit  him,  but  he  done  saved  Mrs.  Raynolds' 
life." 

"Did  it  hit  Sarah  too?" 

"Yep,  it  groun'  old  Sarah  undeh  the  wheels,  but  it 
threw  the  Healah,  and  hahdly  bruised  him  none  at  all." 

Emmett  held  his  hands  to  his  face  and  shook  violently. 
Feeling  weak  in  the  knees,  like  a  battered  pugilist,  no 
longer  able  to  stand,  he  sank  to  the  floor  of  the  small 
porch  and  remained  quiet.  The  negro,  unaware  of  the 
boy's  affection  for  the  Healer,  was  puzzled.  Emmett  re 
covered  himself  and  saw  the  outline  of  the  man  standing 
near  him — a  dark  shadow,  in  which  shone  white  eyes 
and  white  teeth. 

He  made  a  move  as  if  to  go.  "Don't  leave  me  here, 
Sam,  I  never  want  to  go  in  the  house  again." 

"Come  with  me,  the  Ramsays  done  tole  me  to  fetch 
you,  and  I  fohgot."  Emmett  dressed  hurriedly  and 
climbed  up  behind  Sam  and  went  to  the  Ramsays'. 

People  are  quicker  to  share  our  sorrows  than  our  joys. 
And  it  may  be  just  as  well,  for  joy  is  easy  to  bear  The 
County  Commissioner's  eyes  were  red  and  swollen,  as 
Emmett  entered  his  home. 

The  lad  had  long  been  drilled  in  the  army  of  sorrow, 


EVENTS  83 

but  when  Mrs.  Ramsay  spoke  in  sympathy  he  cried  aloud. 
Effie  came  up  to  him  and  placed  her  arm  about  him,  and 
said,  "Don't  cry,  Emmett,  he  was  a  good  man,"  and  then 
she  sobbed  also. 

The  negro,  a  silent  watcher,  bade  good  night.  Ramsay 
walked  to  the  dining  room  with  his  wife,  "We'll  let  the 
children  alone  for  a  while.  Effie  can  do  more  with 
Emmett." 

"Just  think,"  said  Emmett,  looking  up,  "he  told  me  to 
day  that  he  wanted  to  live  to  be  a  hundred,  and  now  he's 
dead." 

"Listen,  Emmett,  dear  boy,"  said  Effie,  "the  Healer  is 
with  us  now.  I  can  feel  his  arm.  He  has  just  gone  to 
sleep.  His  body  may  be  lying  in  Convoy,  but  he  is  here 
with  us."  There  was  a  tense  moment. 

"Oh,"  she  sobbed,  "it  can't  be  that  a  man  like  him  will 
die  forever.  I'll  never  believe  it — I  never — never — never 
will.  He  will  be  with  us  as  long  as  we  live." 

The  sun  pushed  its  way  through  banks  of  dark  clouds 
in  the  east.  Effie  had  fallen  asleep  on  the  lounge,  while 
Emmett  sat  dazed,  on  the  edge  of  it,  near  her. 

The  Ramsays  drove,  with  Effie  and  Emmett,  to  see  the 
Healer.  He  was  smiling  faintly,  as  though  the  girl  from 
Land's  End  had  met  him.  Emmett  walked  about  in  a 
daze,  and  the  wonderful  Effie  seldom  left  him. 

The  funeral  procession  was  the  longest  ever  seen  in 
Van  Wert  County.  Emmett  rode  in  the  carriage  with  the 
Ramsay  family.  As  they  turned  at  a  crossing  Ramsay 
looked  back  and  said,  "Senator  Ames  had  no  such  funeral 
as  this." 


84  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"The  Senator  was  no  such  man  as  the  Healer,"  returned 
Mrs.  Ramsay. 

A  minister  drove  in  the  procession.  There  was  a  time 
when  he  felt  inclined  to  denounce  the  influence  of  the 
Healer  from  the  pulpit.  How  glad  he  felt  this  day  that 
he  had  been  brave  and  broad  enough  to  strangle  that  in 
clination.  He  mused  as  his  horse  kept  pace  with  the  rig 
ahead.  The  Healer  had  faced  the  great  darkness  with 
no  hope  of  a  green  pasture  in  the  everlasting  hills  of 
rest. 

He  sat,  a  heavy  jowled  man,  in  an  ill-fitting  broadcloth 
coat,  turned  yellow  by  time  and  the  sun.  Somehow  he 
could  not  think  in  terms  of  his  creed  this  day.  And 
strange — he  thought  of  Lincoln  in  connection  with  the 
Healer.  Did  not  Lincoln  say  that  he  could  take  the  good 
out  of  all  churches  and  make  a  better  church  than  any 
of  them  had  ?  And  had  not  the  Healer  been  Christ-like, 
with  no  creed  at  all?  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
really  asked  himself  just  who  Christ  was.  He  shuddered 
as  he  thought  he  was  an  agitator  with  a  gentle  dream  of 
love  in  head  and  heart.  To  his  surprise  he  recalled  that 
Christ  had  advocated  no  sect  at  all.  Could  he,  or  would 
he,  live  a  pure  dream  to  the  end,  and  die  as  Christ  had 
died,  with  nails  in  his  hands  ? 

He  thought  of  the  deacons  in  his  church,  some  of  them 
avaricious,  miserable  men.  One  had  denounced  his  own 
daughter,  because  woman-like,  she  had  trusted  a  man. 
That  daughter  had  been  saved,  not  by  fanatic  men,  nor 
superficial  women  with  serpent  tongues,  but  by  the  Healer. 
He  pointed  out  to  her  that  if  she  could  manage  to  get  the 


EVENTS  85 

fundamentals  of  life  correct,  and  if  she  were  brave 
enough,  she  could  throw  the  bricks  of  the  artificial  build 
ing  of  society  right  in  the  builder's  faces.  "They  have 
sent  you  through  hell,  now  throw  brimstone  at  them," 
said  the  Healer.  A  minister  had  once  called  the  Healer, 
"the  tallest  tree  in  the  forest,"  but  that  was  in  private 
conversation  with  him. 

The  procession  traveled  another  mile  and  turned  south 
toward  Van  Wert. 

The  minister  held  the  lines  while  his  horse  kept  pace. 
.  .  .  What  was  all  this  about  anyhow  ?  Were  we  not  all 
like  little  children  picking  at  our  shells  ? 

Many  things  rushed  through  his  mind,  and  as  if  to 
simplify  matters  he  returned  to  the  sleeping  man  in  the 
vehicle  up  ahead.  A  ground  squirrel  dashed  between  the 
rigs  and  ran  hurriedly  along  the  rail  fence  near  the  road. 
Looking  down,  he  saw  a  dead  garter  snake,  that  but  a 
short  time  before  had  been  sunning  itself  in  the  warm 
dust  of  the  road.  He  pitied  that  dead  snake.  Life 
seemed  to  be  a  series  of  exterminations.  Sarah,  the 
Healer,  the  snake,  the  narrow  escape  of  the  squirrel. 

The  rigs  slackened,  and  the  first  one  turned  into  the 
cemetery.  When  the  last  rig  had  entered  and  all  stood 
about  the  open  grave,  there  was  a  sudden  stillness.  As 
if  nature  were  tired,  and  fain  would  rest  a  spell. 

There  was  to  be  no  sermon.  Ramsay,  the  man  who 
had  been  politically  afraid  of  Soaroff  and  his  brothers, 
was  now  brave  enough  to  follow  out  his  dead  friend's 
wishes. 

The  minister  approached  him.    "Mr.  Ramsay,"  he  said, 


86  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"I  wish  to  speak  a  few  words,  of  a  non-religious  nature/* 

"Thank  you,"  said  Ramsay,  "Go  ahead." 

Ohio  has  never  been  lacking  in  speakers,  but  in  the 
memory  of  the  county,  no  man  had  ever  been  paid  such 
a  tribute.  It  was  so  humanly  and  gloriously  delivered, 
that  it  sent  the  speaker  to  the  Legislature  later,  and  kept 
his  name  enshrined  in  ^he  hearts  of  his  hearers  forever. 

He  said  that  the  Healer  had  always  been  more  tender 
than  the  tenderest  woman,  and  stronger  than  the  strongest 
man.  That  his  good  influence  would  make  glad  the  hearts 
of  the  world  for  a  hundred  years  to  come. 

His  heavy  jowls  clicked  when  he  ended  a  sentence. 
Never  did  Webster  look  more  the  part  of  the  orator,  than 
this  country  preacher  with  the  righting  face.  "They  tell 
you,"  he  shouted,  "that  the  evil  a  man  does  lives  after 
him.  I  tell  you  that  the  good  does  also.  If  that  is  not 
so — why  do  we  stand  here  thicker  than  the  stones  that 
sprinkle  this  ground?  When  I  have  felt  weak,  this  man 
has  given  me  strength,  by  the  simple  record  of  his  noble 
life,  lived  from  day  to  day.  Was  the  love  we  bear  him 
artificial — why,  then — do  children  cry?  He  needs  no 
monument  here,  for  he  has  built  twenty  thousand  monu 
ments  in  twenty  thousand  hearts." 

People  of  all  creeds  crowded  about  the  speaker  when 
he  had  finished.  All  religious  lines  were  obliterated,  not 
by  the  preacher,  but  by  the  force  of  a  good  man's  life. 

Emmett  stood  close  to  Effie,  and  asked  her  if  she  would 
sing.  "Dear  me,  I'd  break  down,"  replied  she. 

"You  know,  Effie,  he  always  loved  to  hear  you  sing, 
and  you  say  he  has  not  gone  away." 


EVENTS  87 

"I'll  sing  the  hymn  he  loved,"  said  she.  Two  other 
girls  volunteered  to  sing  with  her.  Their  voices  floated 
like  the  echo  of  silver  bells  among  the  grave  stones. 

Lead,  Kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom, 
Lead  thou  me  on; 

The  night  is  dark,  and  I  am  far  from  home, 
Lead  thou  me  on. 

The  two  girls  finished  the  song  alone.     Effie  was  weeping 
in  her  mother's  arms. 

When  all  was  over  the  crowd  surged  out  of  the  church 
yard,  as  the  sun  cast  long  shadows  of  the  headstones  upon 
the  ground.  A  Great  Man  had  gone  to  pastures  rich  with 
rest. 

By  an  effort  Emmett  lingered  with  the  Ramsays  for  a 
short  time.  "I  can't  stay  here,"  he  said  to  Effie  as  she 
coaxed  him  to  remain.  "I  must  get  away,  for  I  never 
can  forget  while  I'm  here." 

The  more  worldly  wise  Ramsay  saw  the  wisdom  of 
Emmett's  decision. 

The  family  took  the  boy  to  the  same  station  which  he 
had  seen  over  three  years  before.  Effie  bravely  kept  the 
tears  back,  as  she  said,  "111  tell  Ivy  you  said  good-by, 
Emmett,"  and  Emmett  ashamed,  said,  "Yes,  do,  Effie." 

He  waved  at  her  through  the  car  window.  And  then 
she  and  Van  Wert  faded  from  sight. 

He  tried  hard  to  read  a  book  Effie  had  given  him.  But 
thoughts  flew  like  wild  birds  across  his  mind.  He  fell 
into  a  long  revery.  He  wondered  vaguely  about  Virginia, 


88  EMMETT  LAWLER 

and  if  she  would  know  him.  So  much  had  happened  in 
the  nine  years  since  she  had  stood  in  the  yard  with  old 
Shep.  Where  was  Shep?  Where  and  how  did  he  die? 
In  three  hours  he  arrived  at  the  township  of  his  birth. 


THE  LAND  OF  HIS  FATHERS 

ST.  MARYS  is  an  old  town,  a  strange  town,  a  completely 
original  town.  A  canal  and  river  flow  through  it  within 
a  few  hundred  feet  of  each  other.  The  bridges  over 
each  arch  across  Spring  Street,  and  the  natives  often 
pause  in  their  walks  to  look  down  at  the  yellow  waters 
flowing  lazily  below. 

Promenading  lovers  and  people  who  walked  for  display 
would  make  use  each  night  of  the  lighted  section  of 
Spring  Street. 

St.  Marys  was  not  the  County  Seat,  and  whenever  con 
versation  was  slow,  the  citizens  would  expatiate  on  the 
injustice  done  by  shortsighted  men  who  picked  a  smaller 
place  for  that  honor.  For  St.  Marys  had  been  the  largest 
town  in  the  county  ever  since  the  time  Mad  Anthony 
Wayne  had  made  that  section  his  battleground  with  In 
dians  over  a  hundred  years  before. 

Spring  Street  stretched  east  and  west,  the  paved  bricks 
touching  the  open  country  at  each  end.  A  brick  hotel, 
with  a  fountain  near  it,  loomed  majestically  on  the  river. 
It  allowed  a  loitering  place  for  actors  and  traveling  men, 
bartenders  and  preachers,  and  all  the  procession  of  men 
who  wore  white  collars  and  labored  not  with  their  hands. 

A  great  reservoir  almost  touched  the  edge  of  St. 
Marys.  It  had  been  built  by  the  labor  of  man  and  horse 


90  EMMETT  LAWLER 

after  the  Civil  War,  in  order  to  feed  the  canal  which 
carried  commerce  at  that  time  through  the  state.  It  was 
ten  miles  long  and  seven  miles  wide,  a  gigantic  mass  of 
yellow  water  out  of  which  drowned  trees  stretched  their 
dead  black  branches. 

Oil  well  derricks  arose  from  the  bosom  of  the  inland 
lake  like  the  skeletons  of  wooden  ships. 

Whenever  strangers  asked  about  the  reservoir  they 
were  told  that  it  was  "the  largest  artificial  body  of  water 
in  the  world."  It  was  a  tremendous  mouthful,  but  even 
children  said  it  glibly. 

The  railroad  depot  had  been  built  as  far  from  the 
town  as  it  seemed  humanly  possible  to  build  it.  It  was 
the  nightmare  of  some  insane  architect  who  had  long 
since  banished  beauty  from  his  heart  and  life.  The  Lake 
Erie  and  Western  Railroad  served  the  town. 

Its  initials  of  L.  E.  and  W.  signified  Leave  Early  and 
Walk  to  the  natives.  But  the  road  was  then  the  only 
connection  with  the  outside  world,  and  over  its  steel  rails 
had  gone  the  hopes  and  dreams,  and  bitter  disillusions 
of  many  wandering  Ohioans. 

A  beautiful  residence  street  connected  the  town  with 
the  depot.  St.  Marys,  like  a  pretty  girl,  seemed  anxious 
to  show  its  finest  dress  to  the  stranger. 

Five  saloons  faced  the  depot,  while  twenty-two  other 
saloons  were  in  the  town.  The  population  has  been  be 
tween  five  and  six  thousand  for  many,  many  years. 

Churches  were  scattered  here  and  there,  and  people 
walked  on  Sunday  in  many  different  directions  to  worship 
the  one  God  in  many  different  creeds.  Their  paths 


THE  LAND  OF  HIS  FATHERS  91 

crossed  and  re-crossed,  and  crossed  again,  while  the 
sound  of  bells  in  the  steeples  clanged  over  the  quiet  town. 

St.  Marys  had  not  even  the  beginnings  of  a  library. 

Emmett  now  stood  upon  the  depot  platform,  a  forlorn 
stranger  in  a  land  of  many  doubts.  He  placed  his  valise 
upon  the  wooden  planks  and  stared  about  him,  knowing 
not  which  way  to  turn.  His  celluloid  collar  burned  his 
neck,  for  the  sun  beat  down  in  a  blaze  of  fury.  He  wiped 
the  perspiration  from  his  brow,  and  in  doing  so,  his  de 
tachable  tie  fell,  limp  and  bedraggled,  upon  the  dusty 
planks. 

He  stooped  and  picked  it  up,  for  it  was  a  thing  of 
beauty  to  him,  rainbows  woven  into  a  piece  of  silk — red 
and  green  and  yellow,  black  and  blue  and  pink.  Emmett 
used  to  gaze  at  it  admiringly  and  wonder  how  such  a 
thing  of  beauty  could  be  made  for  twenty-five  cents. 

As  he  fastened  it  on  his  collar  button  a  little  man 
walked  up  to  him.  The  little  man  was  the  driver  of  the 
omnibus,  and  for  years  his  mission  in  life  had  been  that 
of  meeting  strangers  and  taking  them  to  the  hotel  or 
wherever  they  might  wish  to  be  taken. 

He  was  no  larger  than  Emmett,  and  people  said  he  had 
once  been  a  jockey  and  had  squandered  a  fortune.  How 
ever,  that  must  have  been  long  ago.  At  any  rate,  he  had 
a  heart  so  large  that  it  must  have  often  shaken  his  small 
body  nearly  to  pieces,  for  it  vibrated  always  to  all  the 
miseries  of  life.  Many  folks  called  him  "soft"  because 
he  had  given  a  tramp  ten  dollars.  But  Johnny  Roods  was 
the  individual  supreme.  He  used  to  sing  one  line  over 
land  over,  and  whether  he  made  it  up  or  got  it  out  of  a 


92  EMMETT  LAWLER 

book,  no  one  knew.     He  would  start  the  line  low  and  he 
would  say  the  last  two  words  rather  loud, 

"All  you  can  hold  in  your  cold  dead  hand  is  what  you  have 
given  away — aw-ay." 

And  now  Johnny  Roods  had  noticed  the  little  auburn- 
topped  stranger  reentering  the  land  of  his  birth.  He 
walked  up  to  him  and  peered  over  the  brass  rimmed  spec 
tacles  which  sat  on  the  end  of  his  nose, 

"Which  way,  kid?"  he  asked. 

"I'm  looking  for  my  sister,  Virginia  Lawler,"  answered 
the  boy. 

"Virginia  Lawler,  your  sister,  eh!  Finest  girl  in  town, 
speaks  to  a  fellow  every  time  she  sees  him.  Come  right 
with  me,"  and  taking  the  small  stranger's  valise  he  led 
him  to  the  omnibus  at  the  end  of  the  station. 

He  bade  Emmett  sit  in  the  driver's  seat  with  him,  as  no 
other  passengers  had  arrived  on  the  train.  The  team  of 
red  and  white  ponies  trotted  quickly  away,  their  steel 
shoes  clattering  on  the  pavement  of  the  fine  residence 
street. 

Branches  of  elm  and  maple  trees  almost  touched  the 
top  of  the  omnibus  as  it  rolled  onward  while  the  driver 
sang  a  strangely  mixed  song, 

Oh,  there  was  an  old  darky  by  the  name  of  Uncle  Ned, 

And  he  died  long,  long  ago, — 

And  he  had  no  wool  on  the  top  of  his  head — , 

In  the  land  where  the  cotton  blossoms  grow. 

Away  at  the  end  of  the  street  the  omnibus  stopped  at  a 


THE  LAND  OF  HIS  FATHERS  93 

large  white  house  with  green  shutters  on  the  windows. 

"Here's  where  Virginia  works,"  said  the  little  man, 
and  in  an  instant  he  was  in  the  yard  with  the  valise,  with 
Emmett  following  him.  As  Virginia  came  to  the  door 
the  little  man  said,  "Look  what  I  picked  up  at  the  depot," 
and  hurried  away  before  Virginia  could  release  Emmett 
from  her  arms. 

Virginia  called  to  him  in  an  effort  to  have  him  stop  for 
his  fare,  but  Johnny  thought  not  of  this,  and  as  the  ponies 
jogged  toward  the  stable  he  said,  "She's  a  fine  girl,"  and 
the  mind  of  the  withered  ex- jockey  with  the  green  heart 
passed  to  other  things. 

Virginia  was  the  maid  of  all  work  at  the  white  house 
with  the  green  shutters.  Her  salary  was  one  dollar  and 
a  half  per  week,  and  of  course  she  was  given  her  meals 
and  a  bed  also.  How  she  clothed  herself  on  this  sum 
is  a  problem  for  a  Herbert  Spencer  and  does  not  enter 
into  the  confines  of  this  story. 

Being  a  daughter  of  a  race  as  impractical  with  money 
as  the  fairies  of  Killarney,  she  had  actually  saved  nine 
dollars  at  one  time.  And  she  never  forgot  to  buy  flowers 
for  her  mother's  grave.  But  what  is  a  silver  dollar  com 
pared  with  the  purple  sentiment  that  surges  in  an  Irish 
girl's  heart? 

Virginia  had  the  hazel-brown  eyes  of  her  mother,  and 
hair  a  mixture  of  auburn  and  brown,  and  very  long.  She 
had  her  mother's  heart  too. 

Emmett  used  to  tell  her  that  if  she  and  Johnny  Roods 
owned  all  the  land  in  the  world  they  would  give  it  all 
away  and  sleep  on  a  raft  in  the  reservoir. 


94  EMMETT  LAWLER 

There  followed  a  few  days  of  visiting  with  Virginia 
before  the  problem  of  existence  was  considered.  And 
then,  one  evening  Virginia  and  Emmett  walked  to  the 
front  of  the  hotel  where  Johnny  Roods  could  most  always 
be  found. 

There  he  was,  perched  on  a  cane  chair,  his  feet  barely 
touching  the  pavement.  He  was  constantly  answering 
the  greetings  of  people  who  passed.  For  Johnny  was  not 
only  an  institution  in  St.  Marys, — he  was  an  oak  tree  be 
neath  which  many  lives  found  shelter. 

Johnny  liked  to  talk  about  horses,  and  if  any  one  would 
talk  about  them  with  him,  he  would  pass  as  a  well-in 
formed  person  with  the  ex- jockey. 

Johnny  had  won  races  also,  and  the  great  and  only 
"Snapper"  Garrison  had  been  his  pal,  before  he  had 
ridden  away  off  to  a  land  that  has  neither  horses  nor 
grandstands. 

When  Virginia  approached  him  the  little  man  stood  up 
as  politely  as  a  private  before  a  general.  It  had  been 
years  since  Johnny  had  worshiped  at  the  shrine  of  women, 
though  local  gossip  had  it  that  an  actress  had  not  been 
as  merciful  with  Johnny  as  she  might  have  been.  But  he 
never  mentioned  a  thing  about  that. 

The  actress  had  gone  up  in  her  profession,  having  used 
some  of  Johnny's  money  as  a  stepping  stone — and  Johnny 
had  returned,  like  Emmett,  to  the  land  of  his  birth. 

As  Virginia  told  him  of  her  plight  with  Emmett  he  felt 
as  grieved  as  though  he  were  responsible  for  it  all. 

"Well,  can  you  beat  that,"  said  Johnny.     "You  two  kids 


THE  LAND  OF  HIS  FATHERS  95 

rest  easy  to-night,  for  I  know  where  I  can  get  Emmett 
enough  to  eat  and  sleep  on." 

The  next  day  Johnny  took  Emmett  to  a  livery  barn, 
where  the  owner  gave  him  a  job  as  roustabout.  So 
Emmett  became  the  "livery  barn  rat"  when  people  con 
sidered  him  at  all. 

His  principal  duty  was  to  drive  about  the  country  with 
traveling  men,  and  other  people  who  wished  to  go  to  the 
small,  outlying  towns.  He  had  a  bed  in  the  office  of  the 
barn  upon  which  he  slept,  that  is,  if  it  did  not  happen 
to  be  occupied  by  one  of  the  customers  of  the  twenty- 
seven  saloons.  At  such  times  the  boy  slept  in  the  hay 
mow. 


THE  CHAIN  FACTORY 

THERE  was  a  great  chain  factory  at  one  end  of  the  town, 
wherein  worked  about  four  hundred  men  and  boys.  The 
fires  of  the  furnaces  were  made  to  burn  strongly  by  an 
immense  blast  which  whirled  through  heavy  zinc  pipes, 
from  which  smaller  pipes  led  down,  like  the  roots  of  a 
tree,  and  were  attached  to  each  individual  furnace.  On 
quiet  days  the  roar  of  the  factory  could  be  heard  above 
everything  else  for  miles  around.  It  was  a  steady,  con 
tinuous  roar,  as  incessant  as  the  sea  upon  a  silent  shore. 

During  the  winter  months  heater  boys  were  engaged 
in  numbers  to  help  the  chainmakers. 

Emmett  succeeded  in  obtaining  work  at  fifty  cents  per 
day,  and  he  also  found  a  place  to  stay  at  two  dollars  per 
week. 

The  chainmaker  for  whom  he  worked  was  a  periodical 
drunkard,  and  he  would  loaf  one  or  two  days  each  week. 
Unless  the  boy  could  find  work  with  another  chainmaker, 
he  would  lose  the  daily  wage.  There  were  weeks  in 
which  he  did  not  earn  the  two  dollars  for  his  board. 

The  chainmaker's  art  is  the  poetry  of  motion.  The 
furnace  is  built  in  the  form  of  a  square  stove  of  fire 
brick,  with  holes  in  the  top  the  size  of  the  links  to  be 
welded  into  chain.  The  link-heater's  duty  is  to  hang  the 
open  end  of  the  links  downward  in  the  fire,  out  of  which 

96 


THE  CHAIN  FACTORY  97 

the  chainmaker  takes  them  as  they  are  heated,  in  endless 
rotation,  one  after  another. 

The  link  is  shaped  upon  the  die,  after  it  is  skilfully  at 
tached  to  the  red  chain  lying  on  the  anvil  plate.  The 
heavy  trip-hammer  comes  down  many  times  and  shapes 
the  link  upon  the  die  into  the  finished  chain.  While  it  is 
doing  so  the  maker's  hand  hammer  is  beating  a  swift 
tattoo  upon  the  hot  link,  between  the  strokes  of  the  trip 
hammer.  His  blow  must  be  timed  to  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  for,  should  the  trip-hammer  strike  his  small  ham 
mer,  link,  die  hand  hammer,  and  perhaps  the  chainmaker's 
hand  are  mixed  in  a  frightful  welter. 

The  holes  in  the  top  of  the  furnace  would  burn  large 
through  the  day,  owing  to  the  constant  rubbing  of  the 
links  and  the  intense  heat.  It  was  the  link-heater's  duty 
to  mend  them  each  morning  with  fire-clay. 

Each  winter  morning,  long  before  older  people  were 
out  of  bed,  the  boys  would  file  through  the  silent  streets 
on  their  way  to  the  factory.  Many  were  clad  thinly,  and 
without  overcoats,  as  they  faced  the  winter  winds. 

Arriving  at  the  factory,  they  would  dip  pieces  of  waste 
in  crude  oil,  and  light  them,  and  place  the  burning  pieces 
on  the  furnaces  to  enable  them  to  see.  In  a  short  time 
the  factory  would  be  full  of  the  smoke  from  burning  rags 
and  a  dim,  uncertain  light.  When  the  boys  had  finished 
the  blast  would  be  turned  on  when  the  engine  started, 
and  the  roar  of  the  factory  would  commence  for  the  day. 

The  burning  waste  would  be  used  to  light  the  furnace 
when  the  blast  was  turned  on.  The  furnaces  were  fixed 
so  as  to  burn  oil  or  gas.  Red  and  blue  blazes  would  spurt 


98  EMMETT  LAWLER 

out  of  the  holes  in  the  tops  of  the  furnaces.  The  heater 
boys  would  then  form  in  groups  until  the  furnaces  were 
hot  enough  to  heat  the  links. 

The  chainmaker  would  come  and  stand  about  the  shop 
like  a  lord  at  a  peasants'  dance,  until  the  fire  was  hot.  He 
would  then  don  a  sleeveless  shirt,  a  canvas  apron  and  start 
to  work. 

Emmett  enjoyed  the  hours  in  the  shop,  for  the  work 
soon  became  automatic,  and  while  he  placed  the  links  in 
the  fire  his  mind  wandered  to  far  places  and  thrilled  with 
dreams  of  splendid  adventure. 

The  chain  would  slowly  form  itself  under  the  skilled 
hands  of  the  maker,  into  red  link  after  red  link,  and  every 
now  and  then  when  he  would  step  back  to  swing  it  from 
his  anvil  plate  to  the  pile  below,  it  would  look  to  the  boy 
like  a  long  red  snake,  bright  red  at  the  head,  and  gradu 
ally  becoming  darker  at  the  tail  as  the  links  coiled  and 
turned  black. 

The  wealthy  owner  of  the  factory  had  once  been  a 
Prussian  blacksmith,  and  he  had  watched  his  little  one 
forge  shop  grow  into  the  largest  chain  factory  in  the 
nation. 

Krantz  lived  in  the  finest  house  in  the  town.  It  stood 
in  the  center  of  two  acres,  a  red-pressed  brick  dwelling 
with  white  stones  as  window  sills.  The  slate  roof  was 
red  and  black,  and  silver  balls  glistened  on  the  lightning 
rods  above  the  roof.  The  house  stood  on  a  slight  eleva 
tion  and  yellow  roads  ran  toward  it  through  bright  green 
lawns. 

Old  Krantz  walked  through  his  factory  every  day,  a 


THE  CHAIN  FACTORY  99 

man  with  a  domineering  expression,  with  a  fragrant  cigar 
either  held  tightly  in  his  fingers,  or  in  his  jaws.  The 
odor  of  the  cigar  would  float  through  the  shop  and  make 
the  heater  boys  dissatisfied  with  their  cheap  cigarettes. 

Emmett  heated  links  for  one  of  the  most  skilful  chain- 
makers  in  the  world.  Each  chainmaker  employed  his  own 
heater  boy,  and  paid  him  out  o<f  the  money  earned  each 
two  weeks.  So,  in  a  sense,  the  boys  only  worked  in 
directly  for  Krantz. 

The  links  seemed  to  literally  fly  into  the  tongs  of  Em- 
mett's  employer.  He  would  stand  at  the  fire  serenely 
oblivious  of  everything  but  the  red  links  before  him  and 
he  would  step  backward  and  forward  with  the  grace  of 
a  dancing  master. 

The  only  school  he  had  ever  known  very  long  was  a 
chain  shop,  and  his  whole  life  had  been  devoted  to  weld 
ing  links  of  steel.  His  chain  passed  the  most  rigid  in 
spection,  for  he  had  reached  such  perfection  in  his  art 
that  he  was  well  nigh  beyond  criticism. 

Tom  Burns  was  known  wherever  chain  men  gathered, 
and  when  he  went  to  distant  chain  shops  his  fame  had 
preceded  him,  and  men  and  boys  would  gather  to  watch 
him  work. 

Old  Krantz  would  often  stop  at  the  fire  to  watch  Burns 
work.  The  smoke  from  his  cigar  would  waft  across  to 
Emmett  and  would  affect  him  in  the  same  manner  that 
the  incense  had  affected  him  at  the  Orphanage.  Krantz 
would  stand  a  long  time  and  watch  the  Master  weld 
links,  and  the  stern  expression  would  soften  into  one  of 
admiration  as  the  heavily  lidded  eyes  observed  his  won- 


ioo  EMMETT  LAWLER 

drous,  precise  movements.  He  would  become  so  inter 
ested  in  watching  Burns  work  that  he  would  forget  to 
puff  his  cigar,  and  to  Emmett's  chagrin  it  would  go  out. 
Then,  when  the  Master's  spell  had  worn  off,  old  Krantz 
would  relight  it  and  walk  on  through  the  shop. 

The  boys  would  often  throw  small  links  at  each  other 
across  the  shop,  and  one  morning  a  lad  threw  a  link  a 
far  distance  at  another  fleeing  lad.  It  sailed  through  the 
air,  whirled  about,  and  missed  the  intended  object.  The 
masterful  owner  was  taking  his  walk  through  the  shop 
like  a  mad  king  late  for  breakfast.  The  link  hit  him 
right  in  the  very  center  of  his  high  and  mighty  forehead. 
Wild  consternation  beat  the  air  with  wings  of  terrible 
passion.  A  cat  had  not  only  looked  at  a  king,  but  had 
hit  him  with  a  link.  There  was  more  confusion  than  if 
ten  link-heaters  had  been  killed.  The  foreman  hurried  to 
the  stricken  owner  who  held  his  forehead  as  though  he 
had  received  a  death  wound.  A  boy  laughed  outright, 
and  was  promptly  discharged. 

The  owner  was  taken  to  his  office,  while  the  discharged 
boy  picked  up  his  coat  and  dinner  bucket  while  boys 
gathered  about  him.  They  refused  to  allow  their  com 
rade  to  be  discharged,  and  they  formed  a  committee  to 
carry  their  defiance  to  the  owner. 

The  Superintendent  came  to  meet  them,  and  was  told 
their  message.  He  was  frantic  with  rage.  He  was  a 
withered  man,  his  frame  was  bent  almost  double,  and  his 
cheeks  were  hollow  and  sallow.  His  dry,  hacking  cough 
bespoke  the  fact  that  the  smoke  of  chain  shops  had  almost 
smothered  his  lungs. 


THE  CHAIN  FACTORY  101 

"Get  the  hell  out  of  here,"  he  yelled  to  the  committee. 

"All  right,"  retorted  the  leader,  "but  if  we  git  out,  we 
take  every  kid  in  the  shop  with  us." 

"Take  'em,  and  be  damned,"  was  the  answer. 

The  boys  taught  the  older  chainmakers  a  lesson  in 
standing  together.  They  filed  out  one  by  one.  Their 
faces  were  seamed  with  smoke  and  grime,  and  their  cloth 
ing  was  tattered  and  soiled.  But  they  were  determined 
youngsters  holding  their  battered  dinner  buckets  in  their 
hands.  One  boy  shouted,  then  all  joined  in,  "Hurray!" 

"We'll  see  old  Krantz  in  hell  'less  he  takes  the  kid 
back  the  boss  fired." 

They  stood,  a  defiant  army,  outside  the  gates  of  the 
factory.  The  roar  of  the  shop  became  still  and  a  winter 
calm  settled  down  on  all  around  them.  Snow  began  to 
fall  and  the  wind  became  sharper.  They  started  singing, 

What  did  you  do  with  your  summer's  wages, 
Holy  Moses,  ain't  it  cold? 

Chainmakers  strolled  out  and  tried  to  coax  the  boys  to 
return.  A  message  was  written  to  the  great  owner  him 
self.  It  read, 

"We're  goin'  home  now,  and  we'll  stay  there  till  the  boss  takes 
our  buddy  back.  When  he  takes  him  back  he  kin  blow  the 
whistle  like  the  devil  in  the  morning  and  we'll  all  pile  out  again." 

Signed— THE  HEATER  KIDS. 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  they  strolled  in  a  body 
toward  the  town.  A  messenger  soon  followed  and  told 
them  to  return  to  work  in  the  morning,  and  to  bring  the 
discharged  boy  with  them. 


102  EMMETT  LAWLER 

The  next  day  a  notice  was  posted  in  the  shop  saying 
that  the  throwing  of  links  was  forbidden  under  pain  of 
dismissal. 

Fate  used  old  Krantz  in  no  more  kindly  way  than  if 
he  had  been  a  humble  heater  of  links.  His  wealth  melted 
away  like  the  snow  on  Ohio  meadows.  Some  people  said 
that  the  trust  got  him.  At  all  events  he  did  not  die  in 
the  finest  house  in  the  town,  but  elsewhere  like  a  mad 
eagle  whom  belching  guns  could  not  tame,  but  only  kill. 

He  was  a  stern,  defiant  fighter,  whose  body  now  is  not 
as  useful  as  the  chains  his  workers  made.  He  attached 
great  importance  to  himself,  whereas  a  steel  link  would 
outlast  him  on  the  earth.  But  his  memory  lingers.  A 
red-headed  orphan  boy  will  never  forget  the  fragrance  of 
his  cigars. 

During  the  noon  hour  Emmett  often  boxed  with  a 
chainmaker  who  had  once  been  a  pugilist  of  renown. 
Danny  McCall  taught  him  many  of  the  tricks  of  the  prize 
ring,  and  his  fighter's  heart  used  to  thrill  as  Emmett  stood 
up  before  his  padded  blows  without  wincing.  By  the 
time  spring  came  he  was  the  equal  of  his  teacher,  then 
Danny  said, 

"You  oughta  make  good  at  the  game,  kid,  you  got 
everything  and  you  can  stand  the  gaff  like  an  old  timer. 
If  you  ever  start  fightin'  don't  never  think  in  your  heart 
that  any  guy  can  lick  you.  'Cause  if  you  do — you're 
licked." 

Emmett  never  forgot  what  Danny  told  him,  and  there 
came  a  time — but  that  is  miles  ahead  of  the  story. 


THE  CHAIN  FACTORY  103 

Spring  came,  and  with  splashes  of  green  painted  trees 
and  lawns  with  vivid  color.  The  factory  became  a  prison 
from  which  Emmett  made  himself  free. 

He  took  up  his  post  at  the  livery  barn  again  and  as  he 
drove  along  the  roads  on  warm  spring  days  his  soul  re 
sponded  to  beauty  all  about  him. 

There  was  beauty  everywhere,  as  though  the  God  of 
Beauty  had  at  last  decided  to  enthrone  his  kingdom  in  the 
minds  and  hearts  of  men.  The  boy,  ever  conscious  of 
nature,  would  sit  quietly  in  the  buggy  while  the  horse 
jogged  along  the  peaceful  road.  His  dreams  were  many 
and  filled  with  the  wonder  of  the  years  ahead.  He  lived 
much  in  a  world  made  up  of  people  in  books,  and  their 
struggles,  triumphs  and  defeats  were  a  part  of  himself. 
Indeed,  many  of  the  book  characters  he  met  at  this  time 
will  remain  with  the  boy  until  he  goes  vagabonding  down 
the  last  long  road  alone. 

The  magic  of  spring  re-awakened  the  sleeping  dreams 
of  people  in  the  town  who  had  not  even  the  shadow  of 
the  dream  left,  if  illusion  had  not  come  to  their  assistance. 
But  illusion  is  the  kindest  of  mistresses,  she  never  haggles 
or  scolds,  and  her  negligee  is  always  of  daintiest  silk,  and 
hangs  in  harmonious  lines  about  her  tempting  body.  She 
takes  in  her  arms  the  brain-  and  heart-wearied  soldier 
home  from  the  battle,  she  kisses  the  wounds  in  his  bat 
tered  body,  and  brushes  back  the  matted  curls  from  his 
bleeding  forehead.  She  strips  him  of  the  tattered  uni 
form,  and  in  its  stead  she  clothes  him  in  a  glamour  of  ego, 
and  gives  him  sufficient  of  herself  to  make  him  go  stum 
bling  into  the  next  battle. 


RUTH  EMORY 

EMMETT  doubly  welcomed  a  young  woman  who  came 
riding  into  his  life  on  a  steed  laden  with  dreams. 

One  day  he  was  asked  to  drive  to  Lima,  over  twenty 
miles  away.  The  best  horse  in  the  barn  was  hitched  to 
the  finest  buggy,  and  shortly  afterward,  Emmett  waited 
in  front  of  a  lilac  blooming  yard,  past  which  the  St. 
Marys  River  ran. 

There  stepped  out  of  the  house  and  down  the  lilac 
bordered  walk  a  young  woman  in  the  middle  twenties. 
She  wore  a  dress  of  pink  linen,  a  blue  hat,  and  white 
shoes  and  stockings.  At  her  throat  was  a  thing  of  beauty 
which  would  have  been  the  delight  of  the  master  gold 
smith,  Cellini. 

It  was  a  Roman  gold  cross  completely  studded  with 
emeralds  and  pearls.  The  colors  contrasted  against  the 
white  background  of  her  throat. 

The  cross  dated  back  to  Ruth's  grandmother  and  a 
sleepy  town  in  Italy.  For  Ruth  Emory  was  the  daughter 
of  an  Italian  mother  and  an  Irish  father.  Michael 
Emory,  her  father,  had  been  a  blending  of  all  the  varied 
shades  that  make  up  the  Irish  character.  Among  the 
things  she  had  inherited  from  him  was  an  instinctive  feel 
ing  for  the  immensity  of  life — and  its  sadness. 

In  her  father's  nature  was  combined  the  gentleness  of 

104 


RUTH  EMORY  105 

a  lamb  and  the  wild  ferocity  of  a  jungle  lion,  the  outlook 
of  a  pagan  upon  life,  tinged  with  the  melancholy  sentiment 
of  the  religion  of  his  fathers.  He  was  a  forceful  man, 
and  the  record  of  his  life  had  been  an  unending  battle  with 
other  forceful  men.  For  Michael  Emory  had  been  a 
pioneer  in  the  oil  fields  of  Ohio. 

He  had  married  an  Italian  woman  with  brilliant  mind 
and  beautiful  body.  He  was  twelve  years  her  senior,  but 
she  loved  him  till  the  end  of  his  tempestuous  life.  To 
those  people  who  could  play  on  the  tender  chords  of  his 
nature,  he  was  the  kindest  human  being  alive;  to  those 
others,  he  was  a  caged  animal,  snarling  at  life.  He  be 
came  wealthy  before  he  was  thirty  years  old.  He  met  his 
future  wife  when  she  was  eighteen.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  long  line  of  Italians  from  whom  the  years 
had  taken  everything  but  breeding  and  culture.  The 
girl's  beauty  captivated  the  man,  and  he  sent  her  to  col 
lege,  and  upon  her  graduation — she  became  his  wife. 

And  then,  Ruth  Emory  came  and  blended  all  the  di 
verse  elements  of  her  father  and  mother,  with  possibly  a 
few  of  their  fathers  and  mothers,  for  the  line  of  genealogy 
stretches  back  into  the  remote  periods  of  time  and  leads 
from  the  ape  in  the  jungle  to  Whitman  with  his  pen. 

As  she  seated  herself  beside  Emmett,  he  was  completely 
fascinated  and  sat  quite  still  with  the  lines  in  his  hands, 
while  the  horse  switched  its  tail,  impatient  to  be  gone. 

"Do  you  know  the  road  to  Lima?"  came  the  words 
from  behind  the  Golden  Cross. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  boy,  "it  runs  through  Buckland 
and  Cridersville." 


io6  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"But  let  me  drive/'  said  the  girl.  "I  love  horses,  and  I 
know  every  rod  of  the  way.  It  will  be  long  past  midnight 
before  we  return,  but  your  mother  will  not  be  worried 
about  you,  will  she?" 

"No,"  replied  Emmett,  "my  mother  will  not  worry." 

"Perhaps  she  is  used  to  you  being  away  from  home." 

"My  mother's  dead,"  said  the  boy. 

A  silence  fell  upon  the  two  as  the  horse's  feet  pattered 
upon  the  pike  that  stretched  away  to  Lima. 

"Who  was  your  mother  ?"  asked  Ruth  Emory. 

"Marie  Desmond  Lawler,"  answered  the  boy  proudly, 
"Emmett  Desmond's  sister." 

"Well,  dear  me!"  exclaimed  Ruth.  "I  have  heard  so 
much  about  them  both  from  my  father.  But  he's  dead 
now." 

Great  clouds,  like  blue,  gray  and  black  mountains 
traveled  mightily  across  the  blue  sky.  They  merged  to 
gether  and  their  colors  blended  into  the  one  vast  color  of 
black,  which  hid  the  sky,  seemingly  forever.  Men  walked 
slowly  behind  plows  across  the  cornfields.  From  afar 
the  voices  of  crows  could  be  heard  in  the  woods,  and  now 
and  then  the  rat-a-tat-tat  of  a  woodpecker  upon  a  dead 
tree.  A  scarlet  tanager  flew  along  the  road,  as  brilliant 
a  vision  as  the  girl  who  sat  near  Emmett.  Ruth  uttered 
a  startled  cry  at  the  winged  beauty,  and  then  young 
woman  and  boy  looked  at  each  other.  Ruth  now  held 
her  hat  in  her  lap,  and  the  wind  caressed  stray  locks  of 
hair  as  dark  as  a  raven's  wing.  Emmett  even  forgot  the 
scarlet  tanager  as  he  looked  at  her. 

Dark  clouds  rumbled  like  the  echo  of  a  Waterloo  in  an- 


RUTH  EMORY 


107 


other  county.  Flashes  of  lightning  began  to  tear  across 
the  sky.  The  clouds  roared  louder  and  louder.  The  de 
fiant  girl  sat  quietly  in  the  buggy  and  looked  at  the  dark 
and  dazzling  heavens.  Then  she  said, 

"There's  a  God  up  there,  and  he  is  a  thousand  feet 
tall,  and  his  arms  are  two  hundred  feet  long,  and  he  is 
whipping  his  lions  with  an  electric  whip  that  burns  their 
bodies  when  it  strikes.  The  lions  roar  and  then  purr  like 
cats  at  his  feet.  His  beard  is  fifty  feet  long  and  fiery 
red.  When  he  is  tired  of  his  sport  he  puts  the  whip  away, 
and  horses  with  wings  fly  through  the  air  trailing  a  chariot 
behind  them.  Pretty  girl  angels  fly  as  thick  as  larks 
after  a  storm,  and  then  God  laughs  a  red  laugh  and  goes 
away,  and  all  the  farmers  in  Ohio  start  to  plowing  corn 
again  when  the  sun  comes  out."  She  paused  a  moment 
and  looked  at  Emmett. 

"Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  a  God?"  she  asked. 

"No,"  replied  the  boy,  "a  fellow  would  get  tired  of 
being  the  same  thing  all  the  time.  Besides,  I'd  worry  so 
much  about  the  people  in  hell  I'd  quit  the  job." 

"Do  you  believe  in  hell?"  asked  Ruth. 

"No,  but  we're  going  to  get  a  hell  of  a  ducking  if  we 
don't  get  under  some  roof."  Ruth  laughed  at  Emmett's 
frank  reply,  and  hurried  the  horse  onward. 

The  rain  fell.  Men  and  animals  scampered  for  shelter 
and  Ruth  drove  hurriedly  to  the  friendly  protection  of  a 
nearby  barn.  It  stood  in  the  center  of  the  yard  and  was 
open  at  each  side  in  the  manner  of  a  tunnel.  A  boy  ran 
out  of  the  house  with  an  umbrella,  and  Ruth  was  invited 
inside. 


io8  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"I  thank  your  mother  so  much,"  said  Ruth,  "but  the 
storm  will  soon  be  over,  as  the  light  is  breaking  in  the 
east." 

In  a  short  time  the  clouds  dispersed,  and  those  which 
remained  in  the  sky  turned  a  vivid  white  and  red,  and 
seemed  to  play  in  the  heavens,  so  merrily  they  flew. 

Men  and  animals  emerged  from  shelter,  while  roosters 
crowed,  and  hens  busied  themselves  with  worms  which 
trailed  blindly  upon  the  ground. 

As  Ruth  drove  out  of  the  barnyard  gate,  the  women  of 
the  farm  came  out  and  looked  up  at  the  sky,  and  ex 
changed  friendly  greetings  with  her. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  storms,"  said  she  to  the  farmer's 
wife ;  "even  when  I  was  a  little  girl  I  used  to  love  to  watch 
the  lightning." 

"You're  a  chip  off  the  old  block,"  said  the  woman.  "I 
went  to  school  with  your  father  and  he  weren't  afraid  of 
the  devil  himself." 

"No — ,  but  Daddy  used  to  be  afraid  of  me,"  answered 
Ruth.  The  women  waved  as  Ruth  and  Emmett  drove 
toward  Lima. 

That  city  was  sighted  an  hour  afterward,  and  when 
late  at  night  they  returned  to  St.  Marys,  the  tired  boy 
slept  upon  his  cot  with  the  wonder  of  a  woman  in  his 
heart,  not  knowing  that  Ruth  was  full  of  vague  wonder 
about  him,  and  why  Fate  had  placed  the  soul  of  a  poet  in 
a  homeless  livery  barn  flunky.  She  fell  asleep  asking 
herself  why  this  boy  was  different  from  the  other  boys 
she  knew. 


SLIM  EDDIE 

THERE  were  several  picturesque  characters  in  the  small 
town.  Slim  Eddie  was  not  the  least  of  these.  There 
had  been  a  red  page  in  his  book  of  life  which  had  long 
ago  become  a  classic  in  the  minds  of  the  elder  citizens, 
and  has  been  handed  down  to  their  children.  For  Slim 
Eddie  was  verging  close  to  the  end  of  his  span  of  life. 
He  was  senile,  toothless  and  shriveled  now,  though  there 
was  still  the  look  of  the  untamed  bird  about  his  eyes. 

By  a  peculiar  twist  of  life  he  had  friends  in  each  of 
the  social  circles  of  the  town,  though  his  favorite  lounging 
place  was  in  a  large  chair,  in  front  of  the  livery  barn, 
which  in  turn  faced  the  sluggish  canal,  with  only  a  road 
way  between. 

For  Slim  Eddie  had  been  as  close  to  death  as  any 
man  alive.  Why  death  had  even  blown  its  breath  in  his 
face.  He  tottered  along  the  streets  now,  the  shell  of  a 
man,  going  broken  to  his  grave. 

Slim  Eddie  had  never  been  a  respectable  character, 
though  there  were  many  people  who  had  not  the  noble 
qualities  of  old  Slim,  jail  bird  though  he  was,  with 
bruised  and  broken  wings. 

Slim  Eddie's  youth  had  been  a  fire  that  burned  fiercely, 
and  he  stood  out  as  a  "good"  man  in  Ohio,  when  a  "good 
man"  was  supposed  to  be  able  to  whip  a  half  dozen  other 

109 


no  EMMETT  LAWLER 

men.  Slim  Eddie  was  the  last  of  a  Fighting  Trinity — 
Michael  Emory  and  Emmett  Desmond  had  been  the  other 
two. 

And  whisper  it  softly — Slim  Eddie  had  once  been  hand 
some.  Even  the  conservative  Cincinnati  Enquirer  had 
called  him  the  handsome  desperado.  But  Slim  Eddie 
was  not  desperate,  he  was  merely  a  brave  man  who  had 
faced  a  dangerous  situation  in  a  desperate  manner.  At 
heart,  he  had  always  been  as  gentle  as  a  child — until,  of 
course,  the  fury  of  the  battle  was  upon  him.  To  look  at 
the  stooped  old  man  now  one  would  not  imagine  that 
he  had  once  been  six  feet  of  whalebone,  as  quick  as  a 
panther  in  his  movements,  and  as  relentless  as  a  tiger 
when  fighting  for  its  life. 

He  carried  the  stub  of  a  thumb  on  his  left  hand.  Part 
of  it  had  been  bitten  off  by  an  animal  man  when  Slim 
was  young,  but  he  had  kept  on  fighting,  and  had  bat 
tered  the  other  man's  features  with  the  hand  from  which 
half  of  the  thumb  had  been  bitten. 

Liquor  used  to  be  in  abundance  at  the  country  dances 
in  the  old  days,  for  the  males  would  take  a  goodly  supply 
within  them,  and  a  goodly  supply  in  bottles  without. 
And  poor  Slim  Eddie  had  but  one  mistress  to  whom 
he  had  been  true.  She  made  him  dance  to  a  mad  red 
tune  all  his  life,  and  her  name  was  Whisky. 

Guns  were  seldom  used  in  the  frontier  days  of  Ohio, 
for  guns  were  considered  a  cowardly  weapon  of  defense, 
if  two  men  were  equally  matched.  Indeed  it  is  likely 
that  some  of  the  gun-men  of  the  west  would  have  been 
whimpering  cowards  in  the  hands  of  men  like  Slim 


SLIM  EDDIE  in 

Eddie.  For  many  of  the  western  gun-men  were  abject 
cowards  without  a  gun  in  their  hands.  A  fighter  in 
Slim's  environment  had  to  be  an  all-around  man,  and 
Slim  in  his  day  could  whip  "his  weight  in  wildcats." 

Johnny  Roods  used  to  tell,  for  Johnny  had  been  a 
jockey,  and  was  never  a  fighter,  that  one  time  he  had  ac 
companied  Slim  to  a  barn  dance,  and  that  Slim  had 
immediately  climbed  out  of  the  buggy  and  had  knocked 
seven  men  down.  Johnny  continued  sadly,  "And  I 
climbed  out  of  the. other  side,  and  seven  men  knocked 
me  down."  Johnny  and  Slim  were  great  friends  and 
the  old  rascal  used  to  chuckle  over  the  memory  of  the 
incident. 

Fate  stacked  the  cards  on  Slim.  Three  men  rode  over 
from  Celina  way  with  the  express  purpose  of  engaging 
him  in  battle.  Others  had  ridden  to  watch  the  conflict 
as  men  will  ride  to  see  several  men  enrage  a  bull  in  Spain. 

The  battle  came  off  on  schedule,  a  taunt  from  one 
of  the  three,  and  the  women  stood  near  the  wall,  while 
the  three  men  and  Slim  drank  the  purple  wine  of  battle. 

One  of  the  men  tried  to  get  Slim  by  battering  him 
over  the  head  with  a  piece  of  lead,  around  which  leather 
had  been  sewed.  The  blackjack  did  not  kill  Slim,  but 
one  of  the  three  men  sank  to  the  floor  beneath  his  terrible 
blows.  His  eyes  closed  forever. 

The  man  died  on  the  floor,  and  the  battered  Slim 
rushed  at  the  user  of  the  blackjack  who  had  stopped  to 
help  his  fallen  comrade.  Slim  clutched  his  mighty  left 
hand  in  the  man's  hair  and  slammed  his  jaw  with  horrible 
blows,  screaming,  "I  intend  to  kill  you,  God  d n  you, 


ii2  EMMETT  LAWLER 

and  the  other  skunk  with  you."  The  man  sank,  a  drab 
bled  scarecrow  with  a  broken  jaw.  The  third  man 
quailed  before  the  menacing  figure  of  Slim,  who  stood,  a 
madman,  ready  to  spring.  Like  a  bird  before  a  snake, 
the  man  could  make  no  move.  "Up  with  your  hands, 
you  cowardly  devil,"  yelled  Slim,  but  the  man  stirred 
not,  and  Slim  gathered  him  in  his  arms  and  threw  him 
out  of  a  window.  The  glass  crashed  in  a  thousand 
pieces,  and  the  dance  hall  was  deserted. 

Slim  was  tried  for  manslaughter.  Even  the  Judge  ad 
mired  his  vanquishing  of  three  men,  but  law  is  law,  and 
because  he  struck  a  blow  hard  enough  to  kill  a  man,  he 
was  given  two  years  in  the  penitentiary. 

He  served  eighteen  months  and  returned  home  defiant 
and  snarling.  He  was  now  an  ex-convict  and  the  thought 
rankled  him. 

He  slipped  down  the  hill  of  life  until  he  reached  the 
bottom,  and  there  he  stayed.  A  kind  word,  the  right 
companionship,  the  lure  of  a  good  woman  might  have 
helped  Slim  at  this  time.  But — so  often  in  life — women 
reach  the  swimmer  after  he  has  struggled  to  the  shore. 

Two  men  and  one  woman  never  deserted  Slim. 
Michael  Emory  always  sent  him  money,  and  there  were 
those  who  said  that  if  the  Judge  had  not  been  Emory's 
friend  that  Slim  might  have  been  sent  up  for  some  years 
longer.  Emmett  Desmond  used  to  take  Slim  out  into  the 
country,  and  Marie  Lawler  cooked  good  meals  for  him. 

Old  Slim  had  remembered,  and  seated  in  his  chair  by 
the  yellow  water  of  the  sluggish  canal,  he  told  of  their 


SLIM  EDDIE  113 

kindness  to  him.    And  now,  Ruth  and  Emmett,  the  chil 
dren  of  his  friends — were  his  friends  also. 

"Your  uncle  was  all  man/'  said  old  Slim  to  Emmett; 
"he  had  hands  as  big  as  a  ham,  and  his  shoulders  were 
broad  as  a  barn.  Mike  Emory  offered  to  bet  five  thou 
sand  dollars  on  him  agin  John  L.  Sullivan.  And  when 
John  L.  gave  his  exhibition  in  Lima  they  didn't  offer  no 
three  hundred  for  any  man  who'd  stay  with  him  four 
rounds.  No  good  Irishman  can  lick  another  good  Irish 
man  in  four  rounds,  and  old  John  L.  knew  it."  And  the 
old  man  gazed  at  the  sluggish  canal. 

"What  about  my  mother?"  asked  the  barn  flunkey  of 
the  ex-convict. 

"Your  mother,"  replied  Slim,  "ah,  there  was  a  good 
woman.  They  took  her  away  early,  and  they  leave  an  old 
wreck  like  me.  Down  at  the  Insane  Asylum  there's 
crazy  people  a  hundred  years  old,  who  can't  be  cured, 
and  they  take  Marie  Lawler  from  her  kids  before  she's 
thirty-five.  Most  anybody  could  run  the  world  better'n 
that."  And  again  the  bleared  old  wastrel  looked  at  the 
sluggish  canal. 

But  about  the  red  page  in  the  life  of  Slim  Eddie: 
He  lived  in  the  underworld  of  the  town  and  two  strange 
men  had  often  been  seen  with  him.  There  came  from 
the  large  cities  in  the  state  the  news  that  the  two  men 
had  records  printed  in  ink  on  books  kept  by  the  police. 

Whether  a  coincidence  or  fact — a  local  bank  was 
robbed,  by  whom  no  one  knew.  The  two  men  had  dis 
appeared,  but  Slim  stayed  in  town,  knowing  in  his  heart 
that  he  was  not  a  thief. 


ii4  EMMETT  LAWLER 

As  bad  luck  would  have  it,  one  night  when  his  Mistress 
Whisky  was  disrobed  in  his  brain,  he  was  accosted  by 
three  men  at  the  edge  of  the  reservoir,  over  which  a  faint 
moon  threw  dim  shadows.  Had  he  been  sober,  it  might 
not  have  happened,  for  Slim  could  have  proven  his  inno 
cence.  But  the  Mistress  whispered  in  his  ear,  and  his 
blue  revolver  spat  five  vicious  flashes  in  the  night.  Three 
times  five  vicious  flashes  spat  back  at  him,  and  the  man 
who  dropped  the  three  men  was  himself  dropped  by  the 
three. 

Then  the  whalebone  body  began  its  terrible  struggle 
between  life  and  death,  while  the  Law  played  a  waiting 
game.  Two  of  the  three  men  were  so  close  to  their 
graves  that  they  could  see  the  worms  crawling  in  them. 
Slim  had  placed  two  bullets  in  the  first  two  men  and  one 
in  the  last  man.  And  the  one  bullet  in  the  last  man  had 
plowed  a  dangerous  furrow  near  his  heart.  So  the  Law 
waited.  If  either  of  the  three  men  died,  and  if  Slim 
survived,  he  would  possibly  later  die,  with  his  whalebone 
neck  surrounded  by  a  hempen  necktie. 

But  the  three  men  recovered  quicker  than  did  Slim, 
for  the  latter  had  nine  bullet  holes  in  his  body. 

Slim  said  himself  that  he  had  no  voice  in  the  matter, 
but  Slim  was  unconsciously  a  fighter,  and  his  whalebone 
body  recovered. 

The  city  papers  sent  reporters  to  cover  the  trial  which 
Slim  sat  listlessly  through.  As  the  three  men  told  their 
stories  men  marveled  how  a  drunken  man  could  come 
so  near  to  hitting  five  vital  spots  in  three  different  men. 

But  they  were  gallant  men,  for  when  Slim  received  his 


SLIM  EDDIE  115 

sentence,  they  shook  hands  with  him,  and  Slim  shook 
hands  and  said, 

"You  damn  cheap  bloodhounds,  you  oughta  know  I 
wasn't  a  thief ;  now  I  gotta  do  fourteen  years." 

The  Judge  had  been  given  a  sad  task  to  perform.  He 
was  neither  cruel  nor  kind,  but  merely  a  machine  who 
knew  not  how  to  temper  justice  with  mercy.  He  gave 
the  man  with  nine  wounds  in  his  body — fourteen  years  at 
hard  labor.  Then  Fate  pitied  Slim,  and  made  him  unable 
to  labor  hard.  Thus  nature  evens  the  score,  not  always, 
but  now  and  then. 

Slim  was  pardoned  after  seven  years,  thanks  to  Michael 
Emory  and  a  humane  governor. 

Now,  with  Slim  Eddie  and  Ruth  in  Emmett's  life,  the 
months  flew  by  on  the  golden  wings  of  pleasure.  To  the 
boy,  with  his  turbulent  groping  soul,  Ruth  was  an  un 
ending  series  of  infinite  delights. 


A  COUNTRY  DRIVE 

RUTH  and  Emmett  saw  much  of  each  other  and  turned 
the  sunbeam  days  into  moonbeam  nights.  The  roving 
son  of  the  dreamer  woman  had  found  a  harbor  by  acci 
dent  that  many  more  daring  sailors  had  looked  for  in 
vain.  The  boy's  mind  caught  fire  from  the  heat  and 
vivid  color  of  her  own.  He  was  enthroned  in  a  land  of 
dreams,  and  all  sordid  objects  took  on  the  hue  of  beauty, 
until  life  itself  was  not  a  procession  of  defeats,  but  a 
Mayday  fancy  beneath  a  blossoming  apple  tree  while  the 
wind  played  through  the  branches. 

He  was  enraptured  with  the  very  wonder  of  life,  and 
it  spread  out  before  him,  now  slowly  moving,  and  now 
in  weird,  fantastic  colors  that  would  fade  from  sight  and 
again  reappear,  like  silver  threads  of  gossamer  passing 
from  darkness  to  the  light  of  the  sun. 

Ruth  came  into  Emmett's  life  after  months  of  desultory 
reading  had  made  his  brain  weary  from  trying  to  retain 
the  ideas  of  many  writers. 

She  turned  many  of  the  copybook  maxims  to  suit  her 
own  meaning  of  life,  and  arrived  at  her  own  conclusions, 
regardless  of  the  opinions  of  wise  man  or  fool. 

"They  tell  you,  Emmett,"  she  said  once,  "that  life  is 
what  you  make  it.  That  is  only  half  true.  Life  is  also 
what  other  people  make  it." 

116 


A  COUNTRY  DRIVE  117 

Never  was  desert  dawn  more  peaceful  than  the  hours 
the  boy  spent  with  her.  Ruth's  was  not  a  life,  but  a  fever 
that  burned  in  hot  embers.  She  alternately  sought  ex 
citement,  then  peace,  storm,  then  calm. 

"I  was  born  in  a  tornado,"  she  said,  "and  perhaps  I 
shall  go  out  in  one." 

There  came  a  never-to-be-forgotten  day  in  which  all 
the  harmonies  of  earth  were  in  tune.  Emmett  was  or 
dered  to  take  a  rig  to  the  house  where  Ruth  lived  with 
her  mother.  When  he  reached  there  she  was  waiting  in 
the  doorway  in  a  blue  and  white  checked  dress.  She  was 
as  dainty  as  a  pearl  in  a  nest  of  diamonds. 

"Now,  Emmett,"  she  said,  as  she  seated  herself  beside 
him,  "I  have  planned  this  day  all  for  you.  Sometimes  I 
hate  days  in  small  towns,  they  crawl  along  like  wounded 
snakes,  but  this  is  to  be  a  butterfly  day  in  the  country. 
Let  the  horse  trot  until  it  reaches  the  St.  Marys  pike." 

The  horse  seemed  to  hear  and  obey  the  words  as  it 
trotted  out  of  the  town  to  the  pleasant  open  country. 
Ruth  sat  silent  until  St.  Marys  was  well  behind  them 
and  then  her  blue  eyes  danced  as  she  went  on, 

"Now,  Emmett,  we  are  going  first  to  the  Forty  Acre 
Pond  to  hunt  mud  turtles.  After  we  catch  them  and 
make  them  mad,  we  will  let  them  go;  then  we  will  go  to 
Aunt  Maggie  Donovan's  for  dinner,  then  on  to  Kossuth, 
and  around  through  Glynnwood  and  home  again."  She 
clapped  her  hands  at  the  prospect. 

Numerous  rigs  were  met  wending  their  way  to  town, 
and  on  the  faces  of  many  of  the  people  who  rode  within 
them  was  not  the  serene  and  glorious  joy  of  living,  but 


n8  EMMETT  LAWLER 

the  tired  look  of  men  and  women  long  weary  from 
gazing  at  the  sun. 

The  Forty  Acre  Pond,  as  its  name  implies,  is  forty 
acres  of  land  over  which  yellow  waters  roll.  Roads  are 
near  its  banks,  over  which  mud  turtles  crawl  back  and 
forth  from  the  water.  Frogs  croak  dismally  near  it  at 
all  hours  of  the  day  and  night.  Sometimes  wild  ducks 
would  light  there  and  send  up  a  momentous  clatter  to  the 
sky  above. 

A  great  gravel  pit  was  near  it.  It  was  a  deep  hole  in 
the  earth  from  which  thousands  upon  thousands  of  loads 
of  gravel  had  been  hauled  in  order  to  make  the  roads  of 
the  county  the  pride  of  the  state. 

Country  children  helped  Emmett  and  Ruth  capture 
mud  turtles  that  snapped  their  vicious  little  heads  from 
under  shells  at  sticks  which  came  too  near  them.  When 
it  came  time  to  go  the  turtles  were  all  driven  patiently 
toward  the  water  into  which  they  dropped  with  a  dull 
plunk. 

As  the  barefooted  children  stood  in  the  road,  each  held 
a  silver  coin  in  his  hand  which  Lady  Bountiful  had  given 
them.  Ruth  brought  something  into  every  person's  life 
which  crossed  her  own. 

When  they  reached  Aunt  Maggie  Donovan's,  Ruth  was 
given  a  reception  which  only  Aunt  Maggie  could  give  to 
the  brother's  child  whom  she  had  always  loved.  For 
Michael  Emory  had  bought  the  two  hundred  acres  upon 
which  John  Donovan  lived — and  had  presented  it  to  him 
when  "Ruth  was  a  tot  of  a  child,"  as  Aunt  Maggie  Dono 
van  said. 


A  COUNTRY  DRIVE  119 

John  Donovan  was  a  kind  man  with  a  gray  goatee. 
His  face  was  florid,  and  blue  veins  ran  all  over  it  in  many 
directions,  like  little  blue  rivers  flowing  through  a  red 
field. 

Aunt  Maggie  Donovan  was  round  and  happy.  She  had 
time  to  spare  for  every  vagrant  or  peddler  who  passed  her 
door.  "Indade,"  she  used  to  say,  "Mike  Emory  was  good 
to  us,  so  I'll  be  good  to  others." 

Ruth's  cousins  scampered  here  and  there  and  brought 
cream  and  meat  from  a  cool  cave  in  the  ground.  They 
were  soon  seated  about  the  table. 

"Aye,"  said  Aunt  Maggie,  after  a  sally  from  John  Don 
ovan,  "ye're  as  sharp  as  a  lawyer's  ax." 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply,  "but  I'm  nary  as  sharp  as  a 
woman's  tongue." 

"There  ye  go,  slammin'  the  women.  Ye  can't  get  along 
with  us,  and  ye  can't  get  along  without  us,  shame  on 
ye." 

"Aye!"  said  John  Donovan  to  Emmett,  "it's  a  good 
thing  Dick  didn't  see  your  red  head." 

"Who  is  Dick?"  asked  Ruth. 

"He's  our  gentleman  cow,"  and  as  the  happy  family 
laughed,  Ruth's  face  became  as  florid  as  her  uncle's. 

The  sun  threw  mid  afternoon  shadows  across  the  fields 
when  they  bid  the  happy  family  good-by.  Tears  gath 
ered  in  Aunt  Maggie  Donovan's  eyes,  as  she  held  the  frail 
girl  close  to  her,  "Ruthie  dear,  you're  an  angel  from 
heaven.  God  love  ye !" 

"Why,  Auntie,  I'm  just  your  niece,  that's  all." 

"Stay  out  in  the  open  all  ye  can,  Ruthie ;  we  don't  want 


120  EMMETT  LAWLER 

ye  to  go  the  way  your  brother  did, — a  coughin'  his  lungs 
out" 

"Why,  Auntie !  You  awful  alarm  clock.  I  never  felt 
better  than  I  have  this  summer." 

For  some  distance  down  the  road  Ruth  remained  silent, 
and  looked  at  the  passing  landscape. 

"I  wonder  what  the  world  would  be  if  it  were  not  for 
women  like  Aunt  Maggie.  She  was  born  kind,  I  think." 

Suddenly  Ruth  held  her  hands  to  her  shell-like  ears, 
"Every  now  and  then  I  have  a  noise  in  my  head  like  a 
lawn  mower  mowing  grass,  and  sometimes  I  hear  silver 
bells  ring  for  an  hour  at  a  time.  Silver  bells  on  lawn 
mowers — a  strange  combination." 

The  horse  turned  at  a  cross  roads  from  which  a 
church  steeple  could  be  seen  towering  above  houses  in  a 
village.  It  was  a  replica  of  a  village  in  Ireland. 

They  entered  the  village,  across  the  road  from  which 
was  a  Village  of  Silent  Irish. 

They  had  once  danced  to  the  music  of  weird  songs,  and 
their  Irish  hearts  had  thrilled  at  the  memory  of  Irish 
loves,  but  now  they  slept  on  forever  undisturbed  by  the 
noise  of  the  trains  that  crept  by  their  village  as  often  as 
five  times  a  day.  And  sometimes  a  train  would  pass  at 
night,  but  so  far  as  was  known,  not  one  person  in  the 
Silent  Village  had  ever  complained  of  the  noise  that  it 
made. 

In  front  of  the  Village  of  Irish  Dreamers  was  a  long 
iron  pipe  which  penetrated  through  wooden  posts,  in 
order  that  the  living  might  tie  their  horses  should  they 
wish  to  converse  with  the  dead. 


A  COUNTRY  DRIVE  121 

In  the  center  of  the  Silent  Village  a  tall  marble  shaft 
pointed  to  the  sky.  Ruth  looked  at  it,  then  slowly  said, 

"Daddy  sleeps  over  there, — Poor  Daddy." 

As  they  stood  over  Michael  Emory's  grave  the  futility 
of  all  things  human  entered  the  souls  of  the  two  Ohio 
children.  The  man  sleeping  near  them  had  made  a  ripple 
in  the  world's  ocean.  And  now  .  .  .  Ruth  stood  in  a  daze 
for  many  moments,  and  then  leaned  upon  Emmett  and 
walked  across  the  Village  to  where  a  smaller  stone  stood 
forlornly  upon  a  sunken  grave.  Some  withered  flowers 
were  upon  it,  and  attached  to  them  was  a  card  upon 
which  could  be  read  the  half  obliterated  name  of  Virginia. 
Chiseled  into  the  stone  was  the  name  "Marie  Lawler," 
Aged  34  Years,  Three  Months  and  Seven  Days.  R.  I.  P. 
A  grotesque  little  lamp  was  lying  down  above  the  name. 
Fifty  feet  away  was  another  stone  beneath  which  the  man 
slept  who  had  likened  Emmett's  mother's  life  to  a  white 
rose. 

As  they  returned  to  Michael  Emory's  grave  Ruth  held 
Emmett's  arm,  and  said,  "Sometimes,  Emmett,  I  wish  I 
were  here  with  Daddy." 

Great  black  buzzards  flew  far  above  them,  seeming  to 
ride  upon  waves  of  air.  They  flew  in  circles,  now  darting 
hundreds  of  feet  with  no  perceptible  movements  of  wings 
at  all. 

By  a  roundabout  way  they  reached  the  St.  Marys  res 
ervoir.  The  sun  sank  across  it  and  transfused  sky  and 
water  in  one  immense  color  of  crimson.  White  clouds 
to  the  east  were  tinged  with  the  red  reflection,  while  a 
brilliant  star  made  its  appearance  in  the  sky.  The  long, 


122  EMMETT  LAWLER 

lingering  twilight  came  and  wrapped  the  two  travelers 
about  with  its  magic  blanket.  Though  the  temptation  of 
home  and  rest  might  have  lured  the  horse  on,  it  was  still 
contented  to  walk  slowly  along  the  road.  By  and  by  many 
stars  appeared,  to  keep  the  bright  star  company,  and 
looking  up,  Ruth  spied  the  Seven  Sisters  low  in  the 
heavens. 

"Just  think,  Emmett,  those  sisters  have  been  together 
a  long,  long  time."  Emmett  made  no  reply,  but  sat  as 
one  in  a  dream.  The  perfumed  odor  of  Ruth's  hair  was 
very  close  to  him.  The  wind  waved  the  dark  clusters 
at  her  temples. 

Ah,  pleasures  of  life,  snatched  from  men  with  millions 
and  placed  in  the  hands  of  an  orphan  boy  along  a  country 
road.  Men  have  gone  singing  down  to  death  for  the 
friendship  of  such  a  woman. 

Long  after  the  twilight  had  been  banished  by  dark 
ness,  they  passed  under  the  farthest  arc-light  at  the  edge 
of  the  town.  The  horse  trotted  along  Spring  Street  with 
such  pride  that  people  turned  to  look  at  it.  The  noise 
of  its  hoofs  was  muffled  as  they  struck  the  dirt  road 
that  led  to  the  barn.  As  they  reached  the  entrance 
they  beheld  the  figure  of  Slim  stretched  out  in  a  woe 
begone  attitude.  His  eyes  were  half  open  and  his  jaws 
sagged. 

The  attendants  at  the  barn  took  the  horse  in  hand,  as 
Ruth  and  Emmett  hurried  to  Slim. 

As  though  he  felt  the  presence  of  a  more  charming 
woman  than  his  own  mistress,  old  Slim's  eyes  turned 
toward  Ruth  as  she  leaned  over  him.  Never  did  wounded 


A  COUNTRY  DRIVE  123 

animal  dying  in  the  rain  look  more  pathetic.     The  girl 
knelt  and  took  the  battered  old  head  in  her  hands. 

Emmett  phoned  from  the  barn  office,  and  in  a  few 
moments  Dr.  Roble  came  and  kindly  ministered  to  the 
weary  derelict.  He  was  carried  into  the  barn  and  laid 
upon  a  cot  with  all  the  gentleness  that  Irish  peasants 
would  have  given  to  a  stricken  priest.  As  Ruth  stood 
above  him  the  old  man  looked  up  humbly  and  said, 
"Thank  ye,  Ruth — you're  Mike  Emory's  daughter,  all 
right." 

"You  must  be  careful,  Slim,"  she  said,  as  she  placed 
her  hand  on  his  forehead;  "you  can't  drink  the  liquor 
you  once  could,  you  know." 

"The  dickens  I  can't.  Only  one  man  ever  lived  who 
could  stand  up  under  more  red-eye  than  I  could,  and 
that  man  was  Mike  Emory." 

"I  know,"  replied  Ruth,  "but  Emmett  and  I  were  at 
Daddy's  grave  to-day."  Ruth  was  thoughtful  as  they 
climbed  the  hill  toward  Spring  Street.  "Dr.  Roble,"  she 
asked,  "what  was  there  about  my  father  that  made  men 
like  Slim  love  him?" 

"Your  father,"  answered  the  doctor,  "was  a  genuine 
man.  Slim  and  Johnny  Roods  could  tell  you  stories  of 
his  kindness  that  would, — well! — Slim  Eddie  said  it — 
you  are  the  daughter  of  Mike  Emory."  The  doctor  bade 
good  night. 

"Come  along  with  me,"  said  Ruth  to  Emmett.  "My 
mother  will  scold  and  I'll  need  you  to  take  my  part." 

As  they  entered  the  house,  the  colored  servant  rose  to 
greet  them.  She  was  knitting  a  woolen  stocking  large 


124  EMMETT  LAWLER 

enough  to  fit  a  barber  pole.  The  floor  shook  as  she  ejected 
her  three  hundred  pounds  from  the  cluir.  "Laws  a 
massey,  chile,  I  done  thought  you  was  lost  Where  you 
all  been?"  And  without  waiting  for  an  answer  she 
waddled  to  the  kitchen. 

"Aunt  Nancy  has  been  with  me  all  my  life,  even  when 
I  went  to  Oberlin,"  said  Ruth  to  Emmett.  \Yhen  Ruth. 
her  mother  and  Emmett  were  seated  at  the  table  Aunt 
Nancy  seated  herself  near  them  for  the  double  purpose 
of  waiting  upon  them,  and  entertaining  herself.  Aunt 
Nancy  was  loquacious  and  did  not  always  wait  for  ideas 
before  she  talked.  Now  she  had  a  new  adventure  to  tell 
about. 

"Big  niggah  tramp  came  heah  to-day,  right  up  to  the 
doah,  and  ast  me  foh  a  drink  uv  wateh.  He  said  he  wu? 
so  hungry  he  doan*  know  wheah  he's  goana  sleep  to-night 
That  crazy  niggah!  He  done  said  he  allowed  he'd  \val-* 
to  Lima,  and  ef  a  train  come  a-tootin*  it'd  stop  foh  him. 
for  his  brothah  was  a  poatah.  He  done  tried  to  tell  me 
that  New  Ohleans  was  in  Alabamy,  when  any  niggah  kiu 
knows  it's  in  Geoghia,"  and  her  fat  sides  shook  with 
laughter. 

The  family  smiled. 

Mrs.  Emory  was  the  remnant  of  a  once  beautiful 
woman — the  pale  gleam  of  a  lightning  flash  upon  i 
burned-out  volcano.  Her  hm  r  been  strong, 

but  still,  she  had  survived  her  robust  husband. 

Presently  Aunt  Nancy  said.  "Good  night,  Mrs.  Emory, 
and  Ruth — and  you,  Mistah  Boy,"  and  stepped  heavily 
up  to  bed. 


A  COUNTRY  DRIVE  125 

After  the  late  meal  Ruth  sat  upon  the  porch  with 
Emmett.  "You  mentioned  the  Faith  Healer  to  me  once, 
Emmett,  please  tell  me  more  about  him?"  she  asked. 

Then  in  the  hush  of  the  summer  night  Emmett  told 
the  girl  the  story  of  the  Healer.  "What  a  wonderful 
man  he  must  have  been,"  said  Ruth.  "I  never  thought 
such  a  man  lived  outside  of  a  book." 

When  Emmett  arose  to  go  Ruth  said,  "You  must  stay 
with  us  to-night,  Emmett.  I'll  show  you  the  nicest  bed 
room.  Slim  Eddie  has  your  bed,  you  know." 

Between  wonder  and  peace,  Emmett  was  soon  in  the 
arms  of  a  dream. 

At  the  breakfast  table  the  next  morning  Ruth  said,  "I 
had  the  strangest  dream  last  night.  I  dreamt  I  had  the 
sea  in  a  glass  bowl  on  the  table  of  the  living  room.  1 
saw  sea  monsters  fight  with  whales  and  sword  fishes. 
Big  whales  would  splash  the  water  out  on  the  rug  with 
their  tails,  and  Aunt  Nancy  would  scold,  and  I  saw  a 
lot  of  snakes  with  fishes  tails,  and  fish  with  wings  like 
eagles  fly  over  the  water.  I  saw  a  lion  swimming  with 
a  hide  with  scales  on  it,  and  it  started  to  bite  me,  then 
I  woke  up  and  it  was  morning,  and  I  was  glad." 

When  the  story  of  the  strange  dream  was  finished  a 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Slim  Eddie  smiled 
crookedly  at  Aunt  Nancy  as  she  opened  it.  Slim  wanted 
to  see  Mrs.  Emory,  or  Ruth,  in  order  to  get  a  dollar. 
Mrs.  Emory  gave  it  to  him,  and  Ruth  poured  him  a  drink 
of  bourbon.  It  revived  Slim  so  much  that  he  became 
talkative,  and  when  the  second  drink  was  brought  from 
the  sideboard  he  asked,  "Did  anybody  ever  hear  about 


126  EMMETT  LAWLER 

the  mouse  the  cat  chased?  Well,  one  time  a  cat  just 
chased  the  dickens  out  of  a  mouse,  and  had  it  worried 
sick.  Then  one  day  the  mouse  come  across  some  red-eye 
that'd  been  spilled  in  a  saucer.  It  drank  the  whisky,  then 
it  straightened  up  and  looked  all  around  and  said,  'Now ! 
where  the  devil's  that  cat !' "  Leaving  the  family  smil 
ing,  the  rough  old  sailor  on  the  shore  of  eternity  went 
walking  toward  Coffee's  saloon  on  Spring  Street. 

Ruth's  mother  encouraged  her  to  bring  all  the  sunshine 
possible  into  Emmett's  life.  The  stable  roustabout  was 
unaware  that  the  girl  and  her  mother  had  talked  many 
times  about  his  welfare.  His  work  now  became  a  pastime 
since  Ruth  had  become  his  friend.  As  it  was  the  doctor's 
orders  to  keep  Ruth  in  the  open  air,  long  drives  were 
made  about  the  country. 

She  ordered  two  suits  of  clothes  for  Emmett,  and  she 
also  taught  him  that  instinctive  blending  of  colors  which 
was  hers,  and  which  seems  to  have  been  born  with  some 
women,  and  very  few  men.  She  showed  him  how  to 
pick  scarfs  to  match  shirts,  and  the  lad  who  had  worn 
the  rainbow  tie  to  St.  Marys  was  now  dressed  differently, 
until  even  he  had  a  hard  time  recalling  the  youngster  in 
the  red  hat  who  had  run  away  from  Soaroffs. 

Emmett  was  invited  to  the  Emory  home  a  month  after 
the  drive  to  the  Forty  Acre  Pond.  Ruth  told  him  that 
she  and  her  mother  were  to  live  in  Lima  that  winter,  and 
were  moving  in  two  weeks.  Aunt  Nancy  was  a-flutter 
with  excitement  already. 

"We  need  a  boy  like  you  about  the  house,  Emmett," 


A  COUNTRY  DRIVE  127 

said  Mrs.  Emory.  "You'll  not  have  to  work  hard,  and 
there  are  many  things  that  Ruth  wishes  to  teach  you. 
My  daughter  thinks  you  are  a  promising  boy." 

The  boy  helped  Aunt  Nancy  and  Ruth  pack,  and  in  two 
weeks  they  were  in  Lima. 


LIMA 

THERE  is  a  picturesque  atmosphere  about  Lima  which 
sets  it  apart  from  all  other  cities  in  Ohio.  It  is  the  largest 
place  within  a  radius  of  sixty  miles  in  a  thickly  popu 
lated  section.  Columbus,  Toledo  and  Dayton  lie  in  dif 
ferent  directions  from  it  like  the  three  out-stretched  fin 
gers  of  a  man's  hand.  Many  railroads  cross  here.  At 
the  time  of  this  story  the  interurban  cars  were  just  be 
ginning  to  travel  in  all  directions  over  the  state,  and 
Lima  was  the  hub  in  the  wheel  from  which  the  steel 
spokes  projected. 

Day  and  night  there  was  a  conflux  of  people  in  Lima 
brought  about  by  the  converging  of  so  many  roads,  which 
gave  it  a  cosmopolitan  air  not  attained  by  cities  very 
much  larger. 

Life  was  lived  intensely  in  Lima,  and  many  of  its  char 
acters  that  Emmett  met  were  men  and  women  grown 
wearily  wise  and  tired  in  the  whirl  of  greater  cities,  who 
came  to  the  smaller  city  to  pursue  the  uneven  tenor  of 
their  way ;  where  they  could  enjoy  city  life  in  a  measure 
and  still  be  within  the  sight  of  country  meadows. 

July,  August,  September  and  October  had  marched 
down  the  road  of  time.  November  came  and  found  Ruth, 
Emmett,  Aunt  Nancy  and  Mrs.  Emory  in  a  comfortable 
home  within  walking  distance  of  the  business  section. 

128 


LIMA  129 

Ruth  was  well  known  in  Lima,  and  girls  who  had  been 
to  Oberlin  called  upon  her  frequently.  As  a  hostess  she 
had  the  grace  of  the  Italian  and  the  warm  generosity 
and  wit  of  the  Irish.  Poise  and  charm  were  her  twin 
sisters.  Her  smile  was  so  warm  that  it  would  thaw  the 
coldest  nature,  and  it  sprang  from  a  heart  that  had  room 
in  it  for  Slim  Eddie  and  Emmett  along  with  more  highly 
cultured  people. 

There  were  some  days  in  which  she  was  lost  in  revery, 
and  once,  when  she  was  quite  ill  for  three  days,  Emmett 
remained  with  her  part  of  the  time.  She  carried  much 
of  her  life  locked  within  her,  a  trait  which  many  strong 
people  possess. 

Her  head  was  pressed  in  the  soft  white  pillow,  and  her 
dark  hair  contrasted  vividly  with  it. 

"Emmett,"  she  said,  "I  heard  those  terrible  noises  last 
night.  My  head  just  roared  with  them.  Lawn  mowers 
sound  terrible  in  one's  head." 

The  happy  weeks  merged  into  months,  and  Christmas 
came  to  Ohio  in  a  whirl  of  blinding  snow.  It  rested 
on  the  trolley  wires  and  the  branches  of  trees.  The 
limbs  creaked  in  the  wind  as  though  suffering  from  the 
weight  of  the  snow.  It  fell,  flake  after  flake,  silently, 
steadily,  monotonously.  It  blotted  out  footsteps  a  mo 
ment  after  they  were  made. 

A  clinging,  wet  snow,  it  clung  to  perpendicular  objects 
as  a  fly  clings  to  a  wall.  Telegraph  poles,  trees,  every 
thing,  took  on  a  fantastic  garb  of  white.  People  moved 
about  the  streets  with  hearts  seemingly  as  light  as  the 
flakes  that  fell.  The  Christmas  sun  crossed  the  sky 


130  EMMETT  LAWLER 

without  having  been  seen  by  an  Ohio  mortal  that  day. 

Ruth  was  happy  this  Christmas  day,  for  the  pleasure 
of  making  others  happy  had  made  her  intoxicated  as  with 
a  rare  wine. 

"Many  people  celebrate  the  day  upon  which  Christ  was 
born,"  said  Ruth,  "but  few  ever  think  of  the  day  upon 
which  he  died." 

The  red  cars  carried  Uncle  John  and  Aunt  Maggie 
Donovan  to  the  Emory  home  for  the  Holidays.  Emmett 
took  Uncle  John  to  a  saloon,  where  he  drank  a  trifle  too 
much.  Aunt  Maggie  was  horrified.  Not  because  Uncle 
John  became  tipsy,  but  because  she  had  always  felt  proud 
of  his  ability  to  stand  up  under  a  vast  amount  of  liquor. 

"Indade,  John  Donovan,  your  brain's  gettin'  soft,  when 
a  little  licker  befuddles  you  like  that.  Shame  on  ye !" 

During  the  weeks  preceding  Christmas  Ruth  often 
walked  with  Emmett  to  the  Lima  Public  Library.  She 
took  keen  delight  in  helping  him  find  many  of  its  treas 
ures.  It  was  the  first  time  in  the  boy's  life  that  he  had 
ever  been  face  to  face  with  the  wisdom  of  the  ages. 
That  which  he  had  craved  through  all  his  young  years 
was  in  abundance  on  the  shelves.  His  duties  were  light 
at  the  Emory  home,  and  he  spent  all  the  time  possible 
among  the  books. 


A  ROSE  FADES 

RUTH'S  cheeks  became  tinged  with  red  as  the  spring  ad 
vanced.  It  enhanced  her  beauty — and  proved  a  danger 
signal  to  her  mother.  She  faded  as  a  rose  fades  at  the 
touch  of  early  autumn. 

Aunt  Maggie  came  from  St.  Marys  and  said  to  Ruth's 
mother,  "The  dear  girl  will  bloom  again  with  the  flowers 
in  May."  Dr.  Roble  came  with  Aunt  Maggie  from  St. 
Marys,  and  Emmett  wondered  what  he  thought  were 
Ruth's  chances  of  blooming  with  the  flowers. 

The  weeks  crawled  through  Emmett's  brain  as  slowly 
as  the  mud  turtles  across  the  road  near  the  Forty  Acre 
Pond. 

Ruth  called  Aunt  Maggie  and  said,  "Auntie,  dear,  give 
Emmett  this  letter  if  anything  should  happen  to  me." 

April  came,  and  passed,  and  the  flowers  bloomed  in 
the  meadows.  The  Emory  household  was  unaware  of 
flowers  in  meadows,  for  the  flower  of  their  lives  was 
dying. 

Ruth's  mother  and  Aunt  Maggie  were  worn  out  with 
the  weeks  of  grief  that  passed  like  years.  They,  and  the 
nurse  slept,  a  brief  hour.  Aunt  Nancy  and  Emmett 
stayed  in  the  room  with  Ruth,  who  was  sleeping  peace 
fully.  Emmett  noticed  the  red  spots  in  her  cheeks  re 
turn,  and  thought  it  meant  new  life  for  Ruth.  It  did, 
perhaps, — but  not  in  this  world. 

131 


132  EMMETT  LAWLER 

The  house  was  very  quiet,  and  Aunt  Nancy  nodded  in 
her  chair. 

A  solitary  fly  began  to  buzz  in  the  room.  It  filled  it 
with  a  weird  loneliness  that  rang  through  Emmett's  soul. 
Suddenly  the  fly  became  still — and  Ruth  heard  the  voice 
of  Michael  Emory.  She  gave  a  long  sigh — and  that  was 
all — Ruth  Emory  was  dead. 

Emmett  walked  to  the  bed  and  grasped  her  hand.  In 
stinctively, — he  knew.  "Ruth,"  he  moaned,  "don't  go 
away.  Talk  to  me."  His  words  awoke  Aunt  Nancy,  and 
the  faithful  woman's  body  quivered  when  she  realized 
that  Death  had  taken  Ruth  while  she  slept.  The  nurse 
returned,  became  alarmed,  and  brought  Mrs.  Emory  and 
Aunt  Maggie  to  the  room. 

For  ten  years  Mrs.  Emory  had  expected  this  blow — but 
was  now  unprepared  for  it  when  it  came.  She  stood 
dazed,  as  if  turned  to  stone, — gazing  at  the  bed,  then 
collapsed. 

Recovering — she  moaned  incoherently.  She  could 
frame  no  words. 

Mrs.  Emory  and  Aunt  Nancy  went  to  the  Donovan 
home.  When  all  was  over  Aunt  Maggie  gave  Emmett 
the  letter  from  the  dead.  It  read : 

Dear  Emmett: — 

I  am  so  awful,  awful  sorry  I  must  die,  but  I  know  I  must  go. 
One  thing  is  sure,  Emmett — death  only  happens  once.  Try  hard 
to  go  on — for  I  have  faith  in  you.  I  am  leaving  you  seventy 
dollars  and  some  of  my  jewelry.  Aunt  Maggie  will  give  you  this 
— when  the  lawn  mower  has  stopped  mowing  in  my  head  forever. 

RUTH. 


THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON 

EMMETT  drowned  his  young  brain  with  whisky  until  it 
responded  neither  to  the  feeling  of  hope  nor  despair.  The 
money  which  Ruth  had  given  soon  melted  away.  Her 
diamonds  and  pearls  became  the  property  of  a  fat  pawn 
broker. 

A  wire  to  St.  Marys  brought  Slim  Eddie  to  Lima,  and 
the  old  man,  long  broken  on  the  wheel  of  life,  was  a 
solace  and  comfort  to  Emmett. 

"Ay,"  said  old  Eddie,  "God  never  made  a  snowflake 
whiter'n  her.  I  never  knew  another  like  her,"  and  then 
the  bleared  old  wastrel  looked  at  the  floor,  with  a  whisky 
glass  in  his  hand. 

"She  was  always  good  to  you,  wasn't  she,  Slim?"  asked 
the  boy. 

"Indeed  she  was,"  answered  Eddie,  "my  own  daughter, 
if  I  had  one,  couldn't  a'  been  better."  The  shaking, 
withered  hand  poured  the  whisky  down  the  shriveled 
throat.  "She  used  to  cry  when  I'd  tell  her  about  the 
pen,"  he  added. 

"Was  that  experience  tough?"  asked  Emmett. 

"Say,  Boy!  Had  you  done  nine  or  ten  years  there  in 
the  Ohio  Pen  in  those  days,  well,  if  it  didn't  kill  you, 
poison  wouldn't." 

"What  was  it  like?"  asked  Emmett. 

133 


134  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"You  can't  tell  nobody  what  it's  like.  You  gotta  feel 
hell  to  know  how  hot  it  is." 

"Was  it  as  bad  as  that  ?" 

"Worse  than  that/'  replied  the  withered  wreck. 

Old  jail-bird  and  youthful  dreamer  hung  about  the 
saloons  of  Lima  until  three  weeks  had  gone  by. 

No  vestige  of  hope  appeared  for  the  boy,  no  glint  of 
determination  with  which  to  meet  the  years  ahead.  He 
would  barely  eat  enough  to  sustain  his  body,  and  during 
the  few  hours  when  the  saloons  were  closed,  he  had  the 
inevitable  bottle  with  him.  Finally  Slim  Eddie  said: 

"Say,  Kid!  If  you  don't  brace  up  you'll  be  where 
Ruth  is." 

"If  I  knew  for  sure  she  was  some  place,  I'd  sure  as  hell 
be  there,"  was  the  rep-ly  which  disturbed  Eddie. 

"Forget  that,  Kid!  People  only  bump  'emselves  off 
when  they're  sick  in  the  head." 

"Well,  I'm  not  well  in  my  head  by  a  damn  sight, 
Eddie." 

"No!  But  if  you  bump  yourself  off  and  Ruth  meets 
you  over  there,  after  she  told  you  to  stay  here  and  be 
somethin',  she'll  be  sore.  Just  suppose  she  is  some  place, 
she'd  be  proud  to  tell  the  other  dames  that  she  helped 
you  down  here.  Maybe  she  knows  everythin'  we  do 
here." 

"Rave  on,"  returned  Emmett. 

"There  you  go,  wise  guy,  full  o'  booze  now.  You 
can't  prove  nothin'  neither  way.  It's  like  goin'  in  a  big 
house  to  sleep,  where  they  don't  let  you  back  out.  But 


THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON  135 

you  go  in  there  all  right.     Now  maybe  they're  just  raisin' 
the  devil  in  there,  you  don't  know." 

"You  know  yourself,  Slim,  that  you  told  me  that  the 
only  reason  you  didn't  bump  yourself  off  in  the  pen  was 
because  you  didn't  get  the  chance." 

"I  know!  But  I'm  glad  I  didn't  now.  There's  lots 
of  white  people  in  the  world.  Why,  they  say  once  in  a 
while  you  find  a  preacher  who's  a  real  guy!  You  kick 
a  guy  and  he  kicks  you  back,  darn  near  every  time.  Life 
ain't  no  golden  rule,  that's  bunk ;  it's  a  fight,  and  a  damn  , 
hard  one." 

"Well,  come  on,  Slim,  come  with  me  to  the  water  tank, 
where  the  freights  stop.  I'll  get  out  of  here,  and  you 
beat  it  back  to  St.  Marys." 

"Have  you  got  any  money  left?  You'll  need  a  bracer 
to-morrow,  you  know." 

"Yes,  I  have  four  dollars  left;  here's  two,"  said 
Emmett. 

"No;  one  buck'll  do,  that'll  get  me  to  old  slow  town. 
I  kin  allus  eat  there,  you'll  need  it  more'n  me,"  said  Slim. 

When  they  arrived  at  the  water  tank  they  found  a 
young  and  a  middle-aged  rover  already  there.  The 
younger  man  was  reading  a  yellow  magazine  more 
frayed  than  himself.  The  older  man  sat  on  a  railroad 
tie  a  few  feet  from  the  reader  and  whittled  slowly  at  a 
stick  of  wood. 

There  are  hobos  of  many  varieties.  There  are  but  very 
few  who  do  not  measure  higher  in  intellect  than  the  aver- 


136  EMMETT  LAWLER 

age  plodding  laborer.  A  hobo  with  a  vigorous  mind  and 
a  splendid  education  is  not  infrequently  met  up  with. 
Where  they  may  have  obtained  it  they  seldom  say,  for, 
as  men  go  down  the  hill  of  life,  they  talk  less  about  them 
selves. 

The  young  tramps  are  often  adventurers  frothing  over 
with  life.  They  are  not  all  fools  by  any  means,  and  in 
cluded  among  their  number  at  one  time  or  another,  are 
the  names  of  Jack  London,  Maxim  Gorky,  John  Mase- 
field,  Josiah  Flynt,  and  many  others,  who,  perhaps,  with 
false  pride  would  not  wish  their  names  included  here. 

Time  changes  customs.  Goldsmith  begging  at  con 
vents,  Rousseau  in  his  early  wanderings,  were  tramps. 
There  were  dark  places  in  Goldsmith's  life  upon  which 
the  light  was  never  thrown.  Is  it  possible  that  the  kind 
est  of  men  was  ashamed  of  having  lived? 

There  is  alive  to-day  an  English  poet,  not  the  brilliant 
Christ-suffering  Masefield,  but  Davies,  a  poet  of  quality, 
nevertheless,  who  lost  a  limb  beneath  a  train,  while  tramp 
ing  in  the  American  fashion. 

In  no  country  in  the  world  has  tramping  reached  the 
art  that  it  has  in  America.  The  young  American  hobo 
in  sheer  capacity  for  suffering  and  endurance,  daring, 
and  deviltry,  shows  qualities  every  day  that  are  worthy 
of  a  higher  cause. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen  on  the  softer  cushions  of  life — if 
you  wonder  at  this  statement — have  some  of  your  young 
men  ride  a  mail  train  through  the  night,  and  cling  to  iron 
ladders  or  slanting  roofs  of  cars  as  it  crashes  along  the 
rails.  Have  them  ride  through  mile-long  tunnels  and 


THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON  137 

hold  their  breath  till  suffocation  almost  ensues.  They 
may  learn  nothing  else,  but  endurance,  which  in  itself  is 
valuable. 

These  lines  are  not  written  to  justify  tramping,  nor 
young  tramps,  but  with  the  hope  that  environmental 
forces  will  some  day  be  put  in  operation  to  guard  against 
such  splendid  material  going  to  waste. 

The  young  tramp  must  have  initiative  and  originality. 
He  must  be  self-reliant,  and  wage  war  with  the  organized 
system  that  would  exterminate  him  with  force,  instead  of 
leading  him  to  the  light  with  kindness. 

A  brilliant  writer  once  said  that  he  had  tramped  across 
America  for  sociological  purposes,  when  he  was  young. 
Emmett  smiled  when  he  read  that.  Tramps  under  twenty 
have  no  sociological  ideas  in  view.  Emmett  had  a  vague 
feeling  that  some  day  he  might  try  to  write  something 
about  tramping,  as  no  man  in  America  has  ever  written 
such  a  book  that  he  felt  was  true.  Josiah  Flynt  filled  a 
few  books  with  gross  exaggerations  and  sad  insight  into 
tramp  psychology,  but  he  had  not  the  gift  of  words,  nor 
the  eyes  to  read  deep  into  the  souls  of  men.  Jack  Lon 
don  may  have  written  the  epic  of  tramping,  but  he  pre 
ferred  to  use  his  wondrous  brain  in  other  fields  of  litera 
ture.  Let  this  fact  be  remembered,  as  all  keen  people 
know,  environment  makes  tramps,  and  a  tramping  trip 
across  America  is  the  epitome  of  tramp  life.  The  tramp 
who  has  been  from  "coast  to  coast"  belongs  to  the  higher 
circles. 

The  term  "tramping"  as  used  in  this  book — means  rid 
ing  on  fast  mail,  or  freight  trains,  for  the  modern  young 


138  EMMETT  LAWLER 

American  tramp  will  not  walk  unless  driven  to  it  by  the 
most  unyielding  of  desperate  circumstances.  But  to  re 
turn  to  the  men  at  the  water  tank ! 

The  man  with  the  stick  of  wood  looked  up  at  Emmett 
and  Slim  and  said,  "Which  way,  'Boes?" 

"No  way  at  all  for  me,"  replied  Slim,  "but  the  kid 
here's  goin'  toward  Cincy." 

"That  so,"  said  the  whittler,  "I  go  as  far's  Dayton, 
and  my  mate  here  goes  on  to  Cincy — if  a  train  ever 
comes,"  he  added  wearily. 

The  reader  of  the  magazine  looked  up.  His  appear 
ance  was  bedraggled.  He  was  a  blond  type,  and  weak 
blond  whiskers  were  attempting  to  grow  upon  his  face. 
He  was  an  effeminate  boy  of  Emmett's  years,  or  older, 
and  the  life  of  the  road  had  broken  him.  His  face  and 
hair  were  streaked  with  coal  dust  and  his  clothes  were 
ragged.  He  reminded  Emmett  of  a  picture  he  had  seen 
of  a  light-haired  boy  picking  daisies  in  a  field.  But  it 
had  apparently  been  a  long  time,  if  ever,  since  this  boy 
had  plucked  the  petals  of  daisies.  He  looked  like  a 
white  lamb  that  had  slept  in  a  coal  yard. 

Emmett's  tailored  suit  looked  sadly  out  of  place  now, 
and  the  bedraggled  youth  looked  at  it  with  envy. 

"Lord,  I  got  to  git  a  front  one  of  these  days,"  he  said. 
"I  ain't  had  a  suit  in  a  coon's  age." 

Slim  Eddie  caught  the  look  in  the  boy's  eyes  and  called 
Emmett  aside.  "Allus  watch  yure  clothes,  Kid,"  he  said. 
"Some  o1  these  tramps  'ud  steal  yure  eyebrows  while  you 
sleep." 

They  waited   for  hours,  anq!  no  freight  train  came. 


THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON  139 

The  youth  had  finished  his  magazine  and  had  wearily 
thrown  it  down.  The  middle-aged  man  proved  to  be 
merely  an  itinerant  bricklayer  who  hoboed  about  Ohio 
from  year  to  year. 

His  two  principal  worries  in  life  seemed  to  be  that  of 
getting  work  for  a  few  weeks  at  a  time,  and  getting  drunk 
when  the  work  was  over.  He  had  just  ended  a  debauch, 
or  to  speak  more  correctly,  his  lack  of  funds  had  ended 
it  for  him.  Women  were  not  of  his  world,  for,  like 
Slim  Eddie,  he  thrilled  under  the  caresses  of  John 
Barleycorn. 

Slim  and  Emmett  had  a  pint  of  whisky  each  with  them. 
The  ever-generous  Slim  bade  Emmett  save  his  pint,  while 
he  offered  the  thirst  devoured  bricklayer  his  bottle  to 
drink  from.  His  lips  closed  about  the  neck  of  the  bot 
tle  in  a  lingering  embrace. 

Old  Slim  could  have  witnessed  an  earthquake  without 
a  tremor,  but  he  watched  his  red  fluid  descending  to  the 
depths  below,  as  an  alchemist  would  watch  his  last  sup 
ply  of  liquid  gold  being  poured  into  the  sea. 

"Brother,"  said  he,  "have  mercy.  I  don't  get  that  out 
of  a  well." 

"Ha,  ha,"  laughed  the  bricklayer,  as  he  stopped  to 
breathe,  "I'd  drown  in  the  well  if  you  did."  Slim  took 
the  bottle  which  contained  a  small  drink  for  himself  and 
Emmett. 

"You  hate  licker,  don't  you,"  said  Slim  sarcastically  to 
the  bricklayer. 

"Yep,  I  don't  like  to  look  at  it — I  close  my  eyes  and 
drink  her  down."  Old  Slim  looked  at  the  empty  bottle 


140  EMMETT  LAWLER 

and  threw  it  under  the  tank  in  an  injured  manner,  like 
a  baby  from  whom  some  one  had  taken  candy. 

A  freight  finally  came  the  last  hour  before  sunset. 
The  engine  stopped  for  water  at  the  tank,  and  started 
onward. 

Into  old  Slim's  faded  eyes  a  slight  mist  came.  Emmett 
really  loved  the  old  fellow  in  the  same  unselfish  manner 
that  Ruth  had  loved  him.  Ruth's  face  flashed  before  him 
for  a  brief  moment,  but  the  cars  were  rolling  swiftly  by. 

"Good-by,  old  Lover,  and  for  God's  sake,  don't  spend 
that  dollar  for  booze  and  walk  to  St.  Marys/'  said 
Emmett,  above  the  noise  of  the  rolling  train. 

"I  won't,"  answered  old  Slim,  "honest  to  God  I  won't." 

The  two  storm-tossed  wayfarers  passed  out  of  each 
other's  lives. 

All  three  rovers  climbed  into  an  empty  coal  car. 
Bricklayer  and  youth  seated  themselves,  while  Emmett 
stood,  to  protect  his  suit. 

The  bricklayer  unfolded  a  newspaper  he  had  in  his 
pocket,  and  placing  it  on  the  floor  beside  him,  he  mo 
tioned  to  Emmett  to  sit  down. 

They  sat,  with  the  pint  bottle  between  them.  The 
bricklayer  was  not  so  greedy  by  this  time,  as  he  seemed 
to  wish  to  prolong  the  sensation  produced  by  the  liquid 
until  his  journey's  end. 

Before  the  sun  went  down  the  conductor  walked  across 
the  train  and  into  the  open  gondola.  He  was  a  big  man, 
with  big  teeth,  the  two  biggest  of  which  did  not  meet  in 
the  center  of  his  mouth.  He  wore  red  whiskers,  and  no 
mustache. 


THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON  141, 

"Where  you  fellows  goin'?"  asked  he.  The  usual  an 
swers  were  given.  "What  you  ridin'  on?"  was  the  next 
question.  The  bricklayer  pulled  out  his  Union  Member 
ship  card.  The  conductor  looked  at  it,  and  said,  "That 
won't  do ;  you'll  all  have  to  unload  at  the  next  stop." 

"You  don't  believe  in  brotherhood  then,  and  you  be 
long  to  the  Brotherhood  of  Trainmen.  Ain't  I  a  work- 
ingman,  the  same  as  you  ?" 

"That  may  be  all  right,"  was  the  rejoinder,  "but  that's 
no  sign  I  should  haul  you  on  my  train." 

"Your  train !  Why,  you  don't  own  this  train  any  more 
than  I  own  the  bricks  I  put  in  a  building."  The  con 
ductor  looked  at  him  quizzically,  but  gave  no  direct  reply. 
The  bricklayer  went  on,  "We  are  all  three  down  and  out, 
all  on  the  bum,  and  you  want  to  make  us  walk.  What's 
the  idea  ?  Will  you  sleep  better  at  the  end  of  the  run  if 
you  ditch  us  ?" 

"No!     But  it's  my  duty." 

"Your  duty,  hell !"  said  the  bricklayer,  in  a  tone  which 
denoted  that  he  might  have  a  streak  of  iron  beneath  a 
dissipated  exterior.  "Why  don't  you  go  back  to  your 
caboose  like  a  regular  guy  and  forget  there's  three  tramps 
on  your  train."  The  bricklayer  smiled,  the  conductor 
wrinkled  his  forehead,  while  the  two  youths  looked  on  in 
amazement  at  the  daring  of  the  bricklayer. 

"All  right,  I'll  do  that  little  thing,"  said  the  conduc 
tor.  "Keep  quiet,  though,  goin'  through  the  towns."  He 
climbed  out  of  the  car,  and  upon  the  next  box  car,  and 
was  seen  no  more  by  the  three  that  night. 

Night  settled  down  and  the  stars  came  out,  and  from 


142  EMMETT  LAWLER 

the  bumping  car  they  quivered  like  silver  fishes  in  the 
blue  waters  of  the  heavens.  Emmett  led  the  bricklayer 
into  a  conversation  about  them. 

"Makes  a  fellow  forget  bein'  broke  and  out  of  licker," 
said  the  bricklayer,  as  he  looked  above. 

Near  midnight  the  engine  whistled  upon  entering  the 
railroad  yards  at  Dayton.  "Well,  here's  where  I  leave 
you  fellows,"  said  the  bricklayer.  "So  long,  lay  low  in 
Hamilton,"  he  added,  as  he  left  the  train. 

The  next  morning  the  two  youths  washed  their  faces 
in  a  saloon,  and  went  to  the  business  center  of  Cincin 
nati  on  a  street  car. 

Emmett  was  sick  from  the  long  debauch,  and  was  un 
able  to  eat  breakfast.  A  bartender  cracked  two  eggs 
for  him  and  placed  their  contents  in  whisky. 

"On  the  road?"  asked  the  bartender.  "Yes,"  replied 
Emmett.  "Come  here,  then,"  he  said  to  Emmett.  When 
the  boy  walked  to  the  end  of  the  bar,  out  of  the  hear 
ing  of  his  comrade,  the  bartender  said  to  him,  "Listen, 
kid,  Fve  been  on  the  road  myself.  The  bulls'll  pinch 
you  as  a  vag  sure  if  you  hang  around  with  that  kid  up 
there.  They  may  slip  you  two  months  in  the  works  for 
vagrancy  in  this  town.  The  judge  is  a  mean  devil." 

Two  months  in  a  workhouse  was  not  a  pleasing  pros 
pect  for  Emmett  and  he  debated  the  matter  over  in  his 
mind. 

"I'll  go  it  alone  as  soon  as  I  can,"  said  Emmett. 

"Take  an  old  head's  tip  and  do  that,"  replied  the  bar- 
lender,  and  as  an  afterthought,  he  added,  "Always  keep 
clean  on  the  road,  kid,  and  then  they  don't  spot  you  so 


THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON  143 

easy.  You  know,  it's  every  guy  for  himself  on  the  road." 
Within  twenty-four  hours,  Slim  and  the  bartender  had 
told  Emmett  some  things  which  in  thousands  of  miles  of 
tramping,  he  never  forgot. 

As  the  youths  started  to  leave  the  saloon,  the  bartender 
called  Emmett  back  and  handed  him  an  old  prayer-book. 
"Keep  this  on  you,  kid,  it's  a  good  stall.  A  lot  of  these 
dicks  are  Irish,  and  if  they  search  you  and  find  this  oa 
you,  they'll  think  you  are  all  right."  The  boy  placed  the 
book  in  his  coat  pocket  and  thanked  the  bartender.  "You 
can  always  tell  detectives,"  said  the  bartender,  "they 
travel  in  pairs,  and  are  big  men,  like  policemen,  in  street 
clothes.  Some  of  them,  are  not  bad  guys,  and  are  lookin* 
for  bigger  game  than  a  kid  that's  down  and  out.  Bet 
ter  play  safe  though,  you  never  can  tell."  The  other  lad 
stood  near  the  door.  "Have  a  shot  before  you  go,"  said 
the  good  fellow,  as  he  placed  a  whisky  bottle  on  the  bar. 
Emmett  drank  the  liquid,  while  the  other  youth  walked 
to  the  bar  and  drank  a  bottle  of  pop.  With  a  warm 
feeling  in  his  heart  for  the  bartender,  Emmett  left  the 
saloon  with  the  fellow  traveler. 

They  walked  to  Fountain  Square  and  seated  them 
selves  near  the  fountain,  where  the  babbling  water  took 
Emmett  back  to  Blue  Creek,  near  the  Faith  Healer's 
home,  where  he  and  Efrie  had  spent  happy  hours  together. 

The  boy  sat  there,  oblivious  to  clanging  trolley  cars, 
and  people  hurrying  to  and  fro.  Like  the  wasps  that 
wound  the  caterpillar,  and  paralyzes  it,  memory  now 
stung  him  until  he  was  momentarily  stunned  and  help 
less.  Efrie  and  Ivy  splashed  their  hands  in  the  water 


144  EMMETT  LAWLER 

near  him.  He  kissed  Ivy  again  as  on  that  long  ago  morn 
ing.  He  beheld  Effie  again  in  the  Soaroff  lane.  Even 
the  mist  shrouded  Solomon  Soaroff  in  a  haze  of  kindness. 

Then  old  Sarah  and  the  Faith  Healer  walked  slowly 
down  the  road  of  memory. 

"Good  Lord,"  said  the  boy,  as  he  buried  his  head  in 
his  hands,  to  hide  the  tears  in  his  eyes,  "have  mercy!" 

Just  then,  two  stalwart  men  passed  the  silent  boys. 
Emmett's  heart  sank  within  him. 

"Where  ye  lads  from?"  asked  one  of  the  men.  Em- 
mett  wiped  his  eyes,  and  stood  up  and  told  his  story.  He 
told  it  with  a  quiet  passion  that  surged  within  him.  The 
men  searched  him  and  found  the  prayer-book,  which 
one  of  them  held  in  his  hand.  Ruth's  crumpled  letter 
was  taken  out  of  his  coat  pocket.  The  detective  read  it, 
as  though  it  were  addressed  to  him,  and  it  pleaded  Em 
mett's  cause  even  more  than  the  prayer-book.  Without  a 
word  he  shoved  the  page  under  the  other  man's  eyes,  as 
he  looked  closely  at  Emmett.  "Who  was  this  girl  ?"  asked 
he. 

"She  was  my  friend,"  said  Emmett,  "and  she's  dead 
now." 

"I  see  she  is,"  said  the  man  of  the  law.  "Some  letter 
she  wrote,"  said  he,  as  the  other  man  handed  it  back  to 
him.  "You  ought  to  be  proud  of  that  letter,"  said  the 
other  detective. 

"I  am,"  meekly  replied  the  boy,  as  it  was  returned  to 
Jiim,  along  with  the  book.  They  bade  the  other  boy 
stand  still,  while  they  took  Emmett  aside. 


THE  ROAD  LEADS  ON  145 

" Where'd  you  pick  this  other  kid  up  ?"  one  man  asked. 

"In  Lima,"  answered  Emmett. 

"Listen,  me  boy,"  said  one  of  the  men,  "we  don't  think 
yure  a  bad  lad,  or  we'd  take  ye  along  with  us.  But  beat 
it,  before  some  other  dick  picks  ye  up.  We'll  take  the 
other  lad  with  us.  And  listen — me  boy.  Hold  onto  that 
book.  On  with  ye,  and  good  luck." 

Emmett  looked  back  when  some  distance  away,  and 
saw  his  erstwhile  comrade  walking  in  another  direction 
with  the  two  men.  This  experience  made  him  nervous 
for  the  remainder  of  the  day. 


MILES  AWAY 

IN  three  days  Emmett  awoke  in  the  railroad  yards  of  St. 
Louis.  A  newspaper  which  he  had  spread  upon  the  box 
car  floor  in  order  to  protect  his  clothes,  was  torn  by  his 
restless  body,  in  several  places. 

It  was  early  morning  when  he  climbed  out  of  the  car, 
and  he  was  penniless  and  hungry.  It  usually  requires  time 
for  even  the  most  daring  rover  to  acquire  the  art  of  beg 
ging,  and  Emmett  was  full  of  the  pride  of  his  mother. 

Years  later,  when  hunger  had  been  driven  from  him, 
he  always  found  time  to  listen  to  the  young  beggar  on  the 
street.  For  many  a  brilliant  man  has  been  a  young  beg 
gar.  Like  another  O.  Henry,  whom  the  past  had  touched 
with  pity,  it  gave  him  pleasure  to  watch  a  beggar  eat. 
And  never  has  Emmett  forgotten  the  experience  of  this 
morning  in  St.  Louis. 

Engines  whistled  in  the  yards,  switchmen  jumped  on 
and  off  flying  cars  that  crashed  together  with  deafening 
noise.  The  tops  of  the  numerous  rails  glistened  in  the  sun 
like  gray  streaks  of  light  against  a  darker  background. 

And  over  all  this  was  the  fear  of  railroad  detectives. 

He  made  his  way  to  the  street,  and  walked  several  miles 
toward  the  heart  of  St.  Louis.  Hunger  gnawed  until  his 
stomach  ached.  As  he  walked  along  the  hot  street,  with 
the  burning  sun  overhead,  he  thought  of  the  Spartan  youth 

146 


MILES  AWAY  147 

of  old,  who  had  concealed  the  fox,  and  rather  than  give 
up,  had  allowed  it  to  tear  his  body. 

Something  must  be  done,  hunger  must  be  appeased.  It 
was  hard  to  beg.  During  the  weeks  of  drinking  he  did 
not  crave  food,  and  had  weakened  himself  thereby.  He 
had  lived  on  little  more  than  a  dollar  for  three  days.  The 
tattered  youth  whom  the  detectives  had  taken  away  had 
been  given  a  dollar  by  Emmett. 

He  passed  a  restaurant  of  the  poorer  grade.  It  had  a 
sign  in  the  front  window  which  read,  "Dishwasher 
wanted."  Emmett  walked  inside.  A  stout  woman  worked 
behind  the  counter.  "We  have  just  hired  a  dishwasher/' 
she  said,  when  Emmett  finished  talking.  Then  apparently 
noticing  the  woebegone  look  on  the  boy's  face  as  he  tried 
to  summon  courage  to  ask  for  something  to  eat,  she  said, 
"Have  you  had  breakfast  yet?" 

"No,"  answered  the  boy,  "and  I'm  weak  from  hunger/' 

As  with  all  deeply  emotional  natures,  kind  words  played 
upon  Emmett's  soul,  in  the  midst  of  mental  strain,  and 
brought  tears  quickly.  The  kind  manner  in  which  the 
woman  had  asked  the  question  made  him  cry  like  a  little 
girl  over  a  broken  doll. 

"Well,  I'll  declare,"  said  the  good  woman,  as  she  hur 
ried  to  the  kitchen.  Returning,  she  said  to  Emmett, 
"Now  you  sit  up  here  at  the  counter,  and  eat  all  you  want," 
as  she  busied  herself  setting  a  place  for  him. 

"I  must  take  that  sign  out  of  the  window,"  she  said, 
"but  I'm  glad  you  saw  it  anyhow,"  and  she  suited  the 
action  to  the  word. 

When   Emmett   left   the   restaurant  he   thanked   the 


I48  EMMETT  LAWLER 

woman,  who  was  as  pleased  as  if  she  had  been  hungry 
and  Emmett  had  given  her  to  eat.  The  boy  was  a  differ 
ent  person.  Courage  again  took  lodging  in  his  heart.  As 
he  walked  along  the  street  he  thought  of  the  story  Slim 
Eddie  used  to  tell  about  the  mouse,  and  he  smiled 
faintly. 

Life  had  a  rosy  tinge  for  him  as  he  found  the  railroad 
yards  out  of  which  trains  ran  toward  Chicago.  He  loit 
ered  near  a  spot  where  he  had  a  choice  of  boarding  trains 
bound  for  the  Illinois  city,  on  four  different  railroads. 
Toward  night,  he  boarded  a  freight  train  of  the  first  class, 
which  was  carrying  live  stock. 

The  art  of  boarding  fast  moving  trains  is  learned  by 
long  practice,  and  even  then  a  certain  daring,  combined 
with  quick  thinking,  is  required. 

Emmett  ran  toward  the  speeding  train,  which  luck,  and 
a  strong  negro,  helped  him  to  board. 

Two  negroes  and  one  white  tramp  were  between  the 
cars  where  Emmett  stood.  "Allus  want  to  run  wif  de 
train,  an'  doan  nevah  grab  on,  les  yu  suah  of  holdin'  on, 
'cause  if  yu  evah  lets  go,  she  may  thruw  yu  undeh,"  said 
the  negro,  whose  strong  arm  had  reached  out  and  helped 
the  boy  aboard. 

The  four  vagrants  talked  and  made  themselves  heard 
above  the  roar  of  the  speeding  train.  Every  now  and  then 
a  steer  would  bellow  in  the  car  ahead  of  them,  as  though 
lonesome  for  the  green  fields  from  which  it  was  jour 
neying  to  its  doom. 

Conversation  disclosed  the  fact  that  the  negroes  were 
bound  for  Godfrey,  a  junction  point,  which  was  then  the 


MILES  AWAY  149 

terror  of  the  hobo,  on  account  of  the  vigilance  of  railroad 
detectives. 

"It  suah  is  a  hostile  town,"  said  one  negro. 

The  word  "hostile"  in  the  vernacular  of  the  road  indi 
cates  strict  police  and  railroad  vigilance.  Many  tramps 
avoid  such  towns,  or  travel  through  them  under  cover 
of  darkness  when  possible. 

"We  all  goin'  to  stop  at  Godfrey  and  go  tu  work.  Lots 
of  cullud  fellahs  from  daown  south  theah  now.  Yu  white 
boys  bettah  stop,  yu  kin  git  yu  suppah  theah." 

When  the  engine  whistled  for  the  yards,  all  four  rovers 
alighted  from  the  train. 

They  walked  slowly  and  cautiously  along  the  edge  of 
the  yards  until  they  saw  lights  in  box-cars  along  a  rail 
road  siding. 

The  echo  of  stringed  instruments  floated  toward  them 
as  they  walked  to  the  cars.  When  they  drew  near  they 
saw  men  at  work  clearing  the  dishes  from  tables  where 
the  evening  meal  had  been.  Making  known  their  wants 
to  the  cook,  all  four  rovers  were  invited  into  the  rude 
dining  car,  where  waiters  vied  with  one  another  in  secur 
ing  them  all  they  could  eat. 

After  the  meal  the  four  walked  outside  where  at  least 
forty  colored  men  sat  about  in  the  gathering  night  and 
listened  to  their  fellow  workers  sing  as  they  played  their 
banjos  and  fiddles.  A.  three-quarter  moon  was  beginning 
to  shine.  The  green  and  red  lights  of  the  caboose  belong 
ing  to  the  cattle  train  were  fading  down  the  track  in  the 
direction  of  Chicago. 

Flying  dark  clouds  flitted  across  the  face  of  the  moon, 


150  EMMETT  LAWLER 

and  at  such  times  the  earth  was  almost  flooded  with  com 
plete  darkness.  The  moon  would  peer  from  behind  the 
clouds  and  the  earth  would  take  on  the  appearance  of  a 
dark  room  suddenly  flooded  with  light.  Rain  was  in  the 
air,  and  the  atmosphere  had  a  murky  heaviness.  Katy 
dids  and  crickets,  and  sometimes  frogs  were  making  noises 
in  unison  as  if  jealous  of  the  music  and  singing  of  the 
carefree  dark  children  gifted  with  the  magic  of  song. 

If  the  souls  of  the  living  ever  return  to  earthly  scenes, 
surely  the  spirit  of  Stephen  Collins  Foster  must  have 
hovered  near  on  this  night. 

As  the  men  sang  "Old  Black  Joe"  an  elderly  darky 
limped  in  front  of  them,  and  with  hand  on  hip  and  the 
other  at  his  ear,  as  though  listening  to  voices  calling,  he 
remained  quiet  until  the  others  stopped  and  then  sang  in 
a  voice  of  rare  quality, 

'Tse  a  comin',  I'se  a  comin' ; 
Though  my  head  am  bendin*  low, 
I  hear  dem  gentle  voices  callin/ 
Ol'  Black  Joe." 

They  next  sang,  "My  Old  Kentucky  Home,"  and  as  if  to 
get  the  full  force  of  the  line  they  would  all  stop  but 
the  one  singer,  who  sang 

"The  day  goes  by  like  a  shadow  o'er  the  heart," 
Then  they  all  joined, 

"With  sorrow,  where  all  was  delight, 
The  time  has  come  when  the  darkies  have  to  part, 
Then  my  old  Kentucky  home,  Good-night." 


MILES  AWAY  151 

The  man  who  had  impersonated  Old  Black  Joe  walked  up 
and  down  in  front  of  his  fellow  workers,  with  head  and 
back  bent  low,  while  all  sang  with  him  in  splendid  har 
mony, 

"The  head  must  bow  and  the  back  will  have  to  bend, 
.Wherever  the  darky  may  go, 
A  few  more  days  and  the  trouble  all  will  end, 
In  the  field  where  the  cotton  blossoms  grow." 

Then  louder  and  deeper, 

"A  few  more  days  for  to  tote  the  weary  load, 
No  matter,  'twill  never  be  light, 
A  few  more  days  till  we  totter  down  the  road, 
Then  my  old  Kentucky  home,  Good-night." 

Emmett  sat  under  the  moonlight  and  recalled  the  even 
ing  when  his  picking  at  Ruth's  piano  had  caused  her  later 
to  make  it  vibrate  with  the  melody  of  Chopin. 

He  was  drifting  to  the  land  of  revery  when  a  man 
touched  his  shoulder  and  said,  "Jist  sit  still,  Bo,  an*  look 
at  dem  two  dicks  oveh  theah."  The  men  listened  for  a 
few  minutes  and  then  walked  down  the  track,  little  realiz 
ing  that  vagrants  lurked  so  near. 

A  headlight  could  be  seen  miles  in  the  direction  of  St. 
Louis,  and  then  by  and  by  the  whistle  of  the  approaching 
locomotive  echoed  through  the  night.  "If  you  kin  make 
that  train,  Bo,  she'll  git  yu  into  Chi  in  the  mornin'," 
said  the  cheery  cook. 

The  great  engine  came  down  the  track  like  a 
mighty  specter  from  the  land  of  dream.  Its  headlight 
streamed  far  ahead  of  it,  in  the  manner  of  a  pillar 


152  EMMETT  LAWLER 

of  light  traveling  over  the  ground  by  its  own  volition. 

The  water  tank  was  a  half  train  length  ahead  of  the 
singing  negroes.  When  the  engine  stopped  for  water  the 
two  youths  walked  toward  the  motionless  train.  The 
negroes  wished  them  good  luck  under  their  breath,  and 
as  the  lads  made  for  the  train  they  made  all  the  musical 
noise  possible,  with  the  hopes  of  diverting  the  minds  of 
trainmen  and  detectives.  As  the  train  started  they  climbed 
between  two  cars  of  which  the  end  door  of  one  was  partly 
open.  Emmett  hastily  drew  it  back  and  climbed  inside, 
while  the  other  rover  followed  him.  Shutting  the  door 
and  fastening  it  from  the  inside,  they  drew  deep  breaths 
over  their  apparent  good  luck.  By  the  light  of  the  match 
they  discovered  that  the  car  was  half  loaded  with  baled 
hay.  Two  other  tramps  were  stretched  out  in  the  car  in 
peaceful  slumber.  They,  too,  were  soon  forgetful  of 
the  cares  of  vagabond  life,  and  slept  as  laborers  sleep  at 
the  end  of  a  long  day's  work. 

When  morning  streaked  its  rays  of  light  through  the 
cracks  of  the  car,  the  four  vagabonds  talked  in  friendly 
manner  over  the  events  of  the  road.  Tramps  constantly 
meet  and  part,  and  always  do  they  exchange  gossip. 
They  have  a  vocabulary  of  their  own,  and  it  may  be  said 
a  rough  code  of  ethics  also. 

As  the  reader  will  follow  Emmett  through  many  miles 
of  tramping  it  may  not  come  amiss  to  give  a  few  of  the 
general  terms  used  in  this  strange  world  which  few 
people  ever  enter. 

A  "local  stiff"  is  a  man  who  tramps  but  a  short  distance 
from  home.  The  term  "yegg"  hardly  needs  explanation, 


MILES  AWAY  153 

as  it  has  passed  into  the  language.  Nevertheless  a  yegg  is 
a  blower  of  safes  who  specializes  on  small  post  offices  and 
stores,  and  sometimes  banks.  Only  when  completely 
down  on  his  luck  does  he  associate  with  his  less  crafty, 
or  more  honest,  or  less  courageous  brothers,  as  the  case 
may  be. 

The  "bindle  stiff"  is  a  tramp  who  seldom  rides,  and 
then  only  the  slowest  trains,  but  is  contented  usually  to 
walk  from  town  to  town.  A  "gay-cat"  is  the  term  used 
for  a  boy  tramp.  A  "fly-by-night"  is  the  more  daring 
young  tramp  who  seldom  rides  anything  but  fast  mail 
or  passenger  trains.  It  was  into  this  class  that  Emmett 
later  drifted.  The  older  tramps  seldom  ride  the  fast 
trains,  as  it  is  far  too  daring  and  death-defying  for  them. 

"Bulls,"  "dicks"  and  "John  Laws"  are  the  railroad 
and  town  police  with  whom  the  tramps  are  constantly  at 
war.  The  "con"  is  the  conductor  of  the  train,  the  "brakie" 
is  the  brakeman.  "Hitting  the  stem"  means  begging 
money  on  the  street.  "Hitting  the  back  door"  means 
begging  at  kitchen  doors.  A  "sit  down"  means  a  meal 
at  which  the  tramp  is  seated.  A  "handout"  means  a 
lunch  wrapped  in  paper.  There  are  many  other  terms 
and  symbols  too  long  to  record  here. 

Tramps  have  a  strong  code  of  honor  when  it  conies  to 
standing  by  each  other  in  a  battle  with  officers  of  the 
law.  Many  cases  are  on  record  in  individual  experiences 
where  they  fought  to  the  death  for  their  kind. 

The  most  admirable  quality  which  Emmett  discovered 
they  possessed  was  their  habit  of  religiously  cleaning  up 
a  camp  after  they  had  used  it.  All  cooking  utensils  are 


154  EMMETT  LAWLER 

left  in  excellent  order.  This  is  a  law  and  is  adhered  to 
strictly. 

Young  tramps  make  excellent  soldiers,  their  resource 
fulness  standing  them  in  good  stead,  as  the  Spanish- Amer 
ican  war  abundantly  proved.  The  army  has  brought  about 
the  complete  regeneration  of  many  of  them,  by  giving 
them  a  healthier  outlook,  and  a  discipline  of  life  of  which 
they  were  in  sore  need. 

But  again,  we  must  take  up  the  story  of  the  four  tour 
ists  in  the  car. 

The  train  stood  still  for  a  long  time,  and  there  was  no 
way  by  which  they  could  tell  where  they  were.  After 
much  longer  waiting  they  decided  to  take  a  chance  and 
find  out  their  location  along  the  road.  So  their  lack  of 
patience  overcame  their  judgment,  and  they  found  out 
where  they  were,  but  the  train  went  on  without  them. 

A  "brakie"  saw  them  emerging  from  between  the  cars. 
The  train  pulled  out  in  a  short  time,  and  was  watched 
so  closely  that  they  could  not  board  it.  They  were  in  a 
small  town  about  fifty  miles  from  Chicago. 


I 


CIRCUS  DAYS 

THE  four  rovers  separated.  The  two  boys  learned  that 
a  small  circus  was  in  the  town  that  day,  and  Emmett's 
comrade  explained  that  they  could  easily  get  breakfast 
at  the  circus  grounds,  as  circus  people  were  always  gen 
erous  to  tramps. 

When  they  reached  the  circus  lot  the  bustle  and  con 
fusion  caused  by  the  pitching  of  the  tent  had  almost  died 
down.  As  usual,  the  dining  tent  had  been  pitched  first, 
and  stray  workers  still  ate  at  the  table  within. 

They  had  no  sooner  made  known  their  desire  for  break 
fast  than  they  were  placed  at  the  table  without  ceremony. 
While  they  were  eating,  the  boss  hostler  entered  the  tent, 
and  asked  them  to  go  to  work.  Emmett  accepted  at  once. 

He  was  placed  in  charge  of  a  team  of  Shetland  ponies. 
His  duty  was  to  drive  these  small  animals  through  the 
streets  every  day  the  circus  had  a  parade.  The  team  was 
hitched  to  a  wagon  with  a  flat  bottom,  upon  which  stood  a 
large  gilded  figure  of  Robinson  Crusoe,  with  the  kneeling 
figure  of  Friday  at  his  feet. 

Emmett's  parade  uniform  consisted  of  a  red  cockade 
hat,  which  sat  jauntily  upon  his  red  head,  and  a  long  red 

,t  with  two  rows  of  brass  buttons.  In  this  manner  did 
art  travel  her  anguished  way  through  the  streets. 

Weeks  passed,  and  pay-days  never  came.    It  was  hinted 


hat 
coa 


156  EMMETT  LAWLER 

about  that  the  men  were  to  be  paid  in  a  lump  sum  at 
the  end  of  the  season.  Thus  hope  was  deferred  and  the 
men  made  happy.  Sometimes  though,  the  men  became 
restless,  and  the  bland  owner  made  them  feel  that  the 
circus  could  not  possibly  survive  the  loss  of  their  depar 
ture.  Emmett  knew  little  of  the  magic  thing  called  per 
sonality  at  this  time,  but  whenever  he  heard  of  it  later  he 
used  to  think  of  the  circus  owner. 

The  owner's  wife  traveled  with  the  circus.  She  had 
been  an  actress,  and  her  beauty  sat  lightly  upon  her.  She 
was  never  guilty  of  affectation,  and  the  rough  circus  men 
had  a  genuine  feeling  of  kindness  for  her.  She  was 
younger  than  her  husband,  and  seemed  to  be  in  the  early 
thirties. 

She  was  fond  of  the  Shetland  ponies,  and  as  Emmett 
was  also,  this  made  the  first  bond  of  interest  between 
them.  She  used  to  pet  the  ponies  while  the  boy  worked 
with  them.  Sometimes,  during  the  quiet  hours,  when  the 
work  was  done,  she  would  find  time  to  talk  to  him. 

Her  father  had  been  a  lawyer  with  more  reputation  than 
money,  who  came  near  entering  the  United  States  Senate, 
but  within  a  week  of  the  time  he  was  to  take  his  seat, 
he  died  of  heart  failure  and  took  his  seat  in  the  Senate 
of  Death  instead. 

Emmett  was  changing  under  the  bludgeoning  hand  of 
environment.  His  self-reliance  was  astonishing,  but  his 
self-control  was  a  weak  and  withered  thing.  He  had 
physical  courage,  though  courage  of  any  other  kind  was 
a  latent  quality  with  him.  His  nature  was  fiercely  inde 
pendent,  and  he  only  responded  to  kindness. 


CIRCUS  DAYS  157 

It  was  not  until  later  that  he  analyzed  for  himself 
that  though  Napoleon  was  strong  enough  to  conquer  a 
world,  he  was  still  weak  enough  to  stay  with  a  brainless 
woman  who  betrayed  him  in  the  first  hot  flush  of  his 
youth.  But  at  this  period  Emmett's  emotions  were  guid 
ing  his  ship  of  life,  while  his  reasoning  faculties  were 
but  the  sailors  who  scrubbed  the  deck. 

The  mad  Nietzsche  was  not  mad  when  he  said  that  no 
life  could  ever  be  completely  written.  Even  Rousseau 
told  but  the  glimmerings  of  things  about  himself.  Etn- 
mett's  life  is  not  written  to  please  his  ego.  A  man  doe? 
not  give  his  heart's  blood  unless  he  feels  that  in  giving  a 
drop  of  the  virile  stuff,  it  might  suffice  to  help  another 
youth  grope  through  the  pit  of  darkness  with  renewed 
strength. 

So  the  boy  hid  his  every  weakness  by  a  sneering,  de 
fiant  manner.  Did  his  head  ache  after  a  debauch  as 
though  his  brain  would  fly  from  his  skull,  he  would  drink 
more  vile  liquor,  and  revel  in  the  sensation  that  it 
created. 

He  fought  with  the  women  of  the  underworld  whom 
he  met  If  they  gave  him  money  he  accepted  it  as  though 
it  were  honestly  come  by.  He  would  give  his  last  dime 
away,  and  he  would,  without  qualms,  accept  a  last 
dime. 

Experience  with  life  and  books  had  made  the  teachings 
of  the  Home  roll  away  from  him  as  water  from  a  duck's 
back.  During  the  quiet  hours  in  the  secret  sessions  with 
his  soul  he  would  hold  Ruth  and  the  Faith  Healer  to  his 
heart.  And  Ruth,  the  brilliant  girl,  who  made  a  compro 


158  EMMETT  LAWLER 

tnise  with  no  sham,  was  then,  and  will  ever  remain,  one  of 
the  greatest  influences  in  his  life. 

It  is  not  the  people  who  crowd  about  us  when  fame  or 
wealth  find  us  that  are  always  the  true  friends.  The  true 
friend  may  be  in  a  lonely  grave,  or  in  some  quiet  corner 
of  the  world.  They  single  you  out  for  that  which  you 
are  and  love  you  for  what  you  hope  to  be.  They  may 
have  no  moral  code,  as  there  are  many  types  that  loiter 
along  the  roads  of  life  that  go  zig-zag  over  the  world. 
Did  not  Meredith's  rover  say  that  he  had  found  some  men 
good,  and  some  H,d,  and  most  a  dash  between  the  two? 

The  point  made  here  is,  that  of  all  who  shaped  Em-, 
mett's  life,  an  unconventional  girl  with  a  heart  of  gold, 
and  a  dreamer  who  entered  no  church,  were  ever  in  the 
lead. 

The  boy  soon  became  a  perverted  complex  of  everything. 
He  liked  nature,  beautiful  women,  books  and  pictures. 
He  never  told  vulgar  stories,  or  listened  to  them.  He 
had  no  moral  scruples  about  them.  It  was  just  a  sense 
of  delicacy  running  like  a  streak  of  gold  in  very  common 
earth.  Perhaps  it  was  an  inherited  instinct  from  his 
mother. 

It  may  also  be  said  that  he  believed  in  a  woman's 
honor  if  she  believed  in  it.  He  never  once  thought  of 
virtue  or  honor  in  connection  with  women.  In  fact,  to  be 
quite  frank,  he  felt  that  other  things  being  equal,  he  could 
get  more  understanding  and  appreciation  from  women 
of  the  underworld.  He  should  not  be  condemned  for 
this,  his  life  had  convinced  him  of  its  truth.  He  had 


CIRCUS  DAYS  159 

stirrings  of  ambition  now  and  then,  and  a  vague  desire 
at  times  to  attempt  to  live  up  to  Ruth's  faith  in  him. 
But  the  line  of  least  resistance  was  to  drift  with  the  tide, 
asi  carefree  as  the  wind  that  plays  upon  green  meadows. 

There  was  a  new  position  open  with  the  circus  which 
placed  Emmett  upon  the  ragged  edge  of  the  acting  pro 
fession.  If  a  man  rolls  a  hoop  around  the  circus  ring, 
he  is  a  performer.  Does  he  not  perform  with  a  hoop? 
Has  he  not  a  right  then  to  sit  at  the  performer's  table,  and 
take  on  airs? 

There  was  a  comical  scene  in  the  cir<  ns  in  which  a  man 
endeavored  to  wrestle  with  a  mule.  Emmett's  new  posi 
tion  consisted  of  being  chief  wrestler.  The  ringmaster 
would  stand  in  the  center  of  the  ring  and  offer  a  reward  of 
ten  dollars,  or  a  million  to  the  man  who  threw  the  mule,  or 
managed  to  ride  on  its  back. 

Emmett  wore  heavily  padded  clothes  for  the  occasion 
designed  to  make  a  rustic  holiday.  From  some  point  in 
the  audience  he  would  stroll  to  the  ring  after  hearing  the 
announcement. 

Through  long  practice  the  mule  became  more  than 
ambidextrous, — it  could  bite,  kick,  and  paw  at  the  same 
time.  If  it  should  have  a  mulish  kind  impulse  toward 
the  man  in  the  ring  who  had  a  foolish  notion  as  to 
how  to  make  an  honest  living,  the  wretched  ringmaster 
rould  taunt  it  with  his  whip. 

The  foolish  mule  seemed  to  think  that  the  poor 
istler  had  the  whip,  and  he  would  tear  after  him  like 
m  enraged  tiger  bent  on  extermination.  The  rustics 


160  EMMETT  LAWLER 

would  howl  with  glee,  and  had  the  mule  bitten  an  arm  off 
they  probably  would  have  died  in  wild  and  mirthful 
abandonment. 

Men  who  boxed  Emmett  in  the  ring  later  used  to  marvel 
at  his  ability  to  stand  up  under  the  most  grueling  punish 
ment,  and  to  wrestle  in  the  clinches  like  an  angry  young 
bear.  Emmett  never  told  them  the  secret,  but  he  was 
the  only  pugilist  that  ever  lived  who  first  entered  the 
ring  with  a  mule. 

At  this  point  in  Emmett's  life  he  seriously  thought 
of  becoming  a  circus  clown.  It  was  so  fine  to  be  re 
spected  as  a  performer,  and  to  feel  that  he  had  started 
with  the  circus  as  just  an  ordinary  driver  of  ponies.  It 
made  him  dizzy  to  reflect  how  far  he  had  climbed. 

When  small  town  reporters  would  visit  the  circus,  he 
would  always  hide,  as  he  dreaded  interviews.  He  used 
to  read  theatrical  magazines  and  talk  shop  with  the 
other  performers  as  they  washed  their  tights  on  Sunday. 

When  the  circus  disbanded  in  the  fall,  the  owner  paid 
all  his  men,  and  established  a  precedent  which  all  small 
circus  owners  should  faithfully  follow.  For  one  per 
former  told  Emmett  that  he  had  once  watched  a  vanish 
ing  circus  train  fading  down  the  track  with  all  his  pay. 

The  man  who  had  the  audacity  to  cheat  a  performer 
should  have  the  courage  to  conquer  a  world.  For  do  not 
theatrical  people  carry  a  whole  solar  system  within  them 
selves  ? 

But,  ah,  they  are  a  royal  hearted  crew !  With  all  their 
faults,  there  are  no  hearts  like  theirs  the  wide  world 
over  .  .  .  Gypsies  on  the  highway  of  life  .  .  . 


CIRCUS  DAYS  161 

Being  a  performer,  of  course,  had  given  Emmett  plenty 
of  time  to  read  books  of  the  better  grade.  The  owner's 
wife  had  books  with  her,  and  shared  them  with  Emmett, 
as  book  lovers  will  all  the  world  around. 

This  summer  he  read  "Life  on  the  Mississippi,"  and 
"Roughing  It,"  by  the  Prince  Charming  of  writers. 

The  owner's  wife  had  been  reared  along  the  Mississippi, 
in  a  town  which  is  nameless  here,  for  her  father's  name  13 
still  heard  on  its  streets. 

Many  women  bring  the  minds  of  waitresses  to  ban 
quets  spread  by  genius,  but  this  cannot  be  said  of  the 
circus  owner's  wife.  Neither  did  she  have  to  go  to 
books  written  by  men  for  her  conception  of  the  psychol 
ogy  of  women.  .  .  .  She  had  dared  to  live  herself,  and 
in  daring  to  live,  she  had  dared  to  learn,  and  she  had 
paid  a  heavy  price  for  what  she  knew  about  life. 
Though  some  of  the  lessons  were  bitter,  she  received 
them  with  a  smile. 

She  warrants  a  word  of  description  here.  She  was 
a  petite  little  woman,  with  great,  dark  eyes,  and  dark 
hair,  and  a  doll-like  face  which  was  neither  round  nor 
classic,  but  bordering  somewhat  on  the  latter.  Just 
enough  to  save  her  from  a  double  chin  which  mars  so 
many  pretty  round  faces.  Her  taste  for  colors  seemed 
to  enhance  her  beauty. 

She  gave  Emmett  "Madame  Bovary"  to  read,  and 
when  he  returned  it  to  her,  he  found  her  a  trifle  weary 
of  the  present,  and  full  of  regrets  for  the  past.  For 
icr  past  had  been  one  of  those  lightning  flashes,  after 
rhich  the  thunder  echoes  a  long,  long  time. 


162  EMMETT  LAWLER 

She  had  run  away  from  home  at  seventeen,  and  had 
written  her  brilliant  father  a  defiantly  kind  letter  telling 
of  her  decision  to  become  an  actress. 

She  was  now  sitting  back  in  an  unconventional  garb, 
smoking  a  Turkish  cigarette,  which  filled  the  small  sec 
tion  of  the  car  as  with  a  heavy  incense. 

It  was  an  off-day  with  the  circus,  owing  to  some  mis 
understanding  with  the  rulers  of  the  town  in  which 
they  were  to  show. 

The  circus  people  were  spending  the  day  according 
to  the  propelling  motives  of  their  desires.  ^?he  owner 
was  playing  poker,  his  one  relaxation  from' the  strain 
of  piloting  a  one-horse  circus  about  the  land. 

As  he  entered"  the  car,  the  owner's  wife  laughingly 
said,  as  she  flicked  the  ashes  from  her  cigarette; 

"I  was  wondering  where  you  were,  Performer.  I 
thought  once  of  sending  for  you."  "WJien  ^mmett 
handed  her  the  book  she  asked,  "How  did  you  like 
'Madame  Bovary' ?",-••''; 

"She  was  a  wonderfw^woman,"  replied  the  wrestler 
of  the  mule. 

"Did  you  ever  know  a  woman  as  fine  as  she  was?" 
asked  the  owner's  wife. 

"I  knew  one  that  >was  far  finer  and  prettier,"  answered 
Emmett. 

"I  would  love  to  hear  about  her,"  said  site,  as  she 
looked  out  of  the  window, — and  blew  a  puff  of  blue 
smoke  before  her  eyes. 

"Won't  you  talk  to  me  to-day?"  said  Emmett.  "You 
have  read  and  seen  so  much  more  than  I  have." 


I 


CIRCUS  DAYS  163 

'Til  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  she  laughed.  "I'll  flip  a 
coin,  heads  I  win,  tails  you  lose — and  the  loser  must  tell 
a  story." 

"You  want  me  to  play  the  game  like  the  rustic  who 
bets  the  wise  guy  that  the  bean  is  under  the  shell — 
one  of  those — if  I  win,  you  lose  games — don't  you?" 
asked  Emmett. 

"No,  I'll  flip  honest  and  abide  by  the  decision  of  the 
coin,  really  and  truly  I  will,"  she  said  girlishly. 

"All  right,"  said  Emmett,  "flip  the  coin,  I'll  take 
heads."  The  delicate  white  hand  flipped  a  silver  coin 
in  the  air ;  it  fell  upon  the  floor  and  whirled  about  for  a 
moment — the  owner's  wife  had  lost. 

"Just  my  luck,"  she  said.  "What  woman  can  beat  a 
man?" 

"Well,  Cleopatra  took  some  of  the  wise  boys  into 
camp,"  replied  Emmett. 

"Don't  you  believe  everything  you  read  in  history," 
said  the  clever  woman.  "Perhaps  Cleo  was  in  love  with 
some  roughneck  common  soldier,  who  knows?" 

"What  is  love?"  asked  Emmett. 

"It  is  the  feeling  one  has  when  he  thinks  he's  a  phi 
losopher." 

"Do  you  believe  in  it  ?"  asked  Emmett. 

"I  do,"  she  answered,  with  a  slight  trace  of  emotion. 
"I  believe  in  it  so  much  that  I  almost  went  to  hell  for  it. 
Had  it  lasted,  I'd  have  stayed  there,  too." 

"He  must  have  been  a  handsome  fellow  to  win  a 
woman  like  you,"  was  Emmett's  gallant,  but  sincere 
reply. 


164  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"I  never  thought  about  him  as  being  handsome/'  she 
said,  "but  I  guess  he  was,  he  was  so  unselfish  that  he 
would  give  an  umbrella  away  and  walk  home  in  the 
rain."  She  looked  at  her  wedding  ring  with  a  wistful 
expression. 

"Was  he  a  smart  man?"  asked  Emmett. 

"Well,  he  wrote  plays — two  of  them,  he  was  the  only 
man  I  ever  knew  who  never  bored  me  for  a  second." 

"Funny,  you  never  married  him,"  said  Emmett. 

"Not  so  funny  after  all,  when  a  person  comes  to 
think  of  it." 

"Why?" 

"Well,  a  girl  can't  marry  a  dead  man,  can  she?" 
The  woman's  reply  brought  no  answer,  and  the  two 
sat  silent  for  several  moments.  "You  see,  he  was  al 
ready  married.  It  was  one  of  those  wretched  affairs 
that  mar  the  careers  of  so  many  brilliant  men.  A  genius 
should  put  off  marrying  until  he  is  forty,  and  then 
postpone  it  another  forty  years."  She  lit  another  ciga 
rette,  and  continued. 

"He  married  his  wife  when  he  was  twenty-one  years 
old.  She  was  not  a  bad  woman,  but  she  had  the  brains 
of  a  twelve-year-old  girl.  Twins  called  papa  to  him 
two  years  later,  and  for  five  years  he  worked  on  a  New 
York  newspaper,  till  his  play  went  over." 

She  looked  at  a  dainty  foot,  and  then  in  Emmett's 
face.  "Then  I  was  chosen  to  act  in  his  play,  and  met 
him.  When  I  knew  that  I  loved  him  I  was  a  virgin, 
•for  no  moral  reason  whatever,  save  that  I  did  not  want 
the  man  I  loved  to  feel  in  his  heart  that  I  had  brought 


CIRCUS  DAYS  165 

him  stale  bread.  That  man  treated  me  with  the  same 
respect  with  which  he  treated  his  own  mother." 

"How  did  he  happen  to  die?"  asked  Emmett. 

"Oh,  typhoid  fever, — in  her  arms,  can  you  beat  it? 
There  was  one  consolation,  the  nurse  at  the  hospital 
knew  me,  and  she  told  me  that  my  name  was  the  last 
word  he  spoke." 

Just  then  the  owner  returned,  and  turning  to  Emmett, 
his  wife  said,  "You  see,  Performer,  I  told  you  a  story 
without  telling  you  a  story.  I  hope  you  lose  next  time, 
and  then  I  will  hear  your  story." 

"Telling  funny  stories,  eh!"  said  the  genial  owner. 

"Yes,  funny  stories,"  replied  his  wife,  "very,  very 
funny  stories." 

"Well,  I  know  a  funny  story,  too.  I  won  eighty  dol 
lars,"  said  the  man  with  personality  in  every  pocket. 

A  few  days  later  the  circus  disbanded  and  went  into 
winter  headquarters,  within  a  night's  ride  of  Chicago. 

The  owner  gave  a  banquet  to  the  performers,  at  which 
his  wife  presided  in  the  manner  of  a  girl  who  has  never 
known  a  heartache.  Emmett,  being  merely  a  performer 
with  an  uncertain  future,  did  not  occupy  much  of  the 
owner's  time.  But  his  wife  treated  him  as  the  farmer's 
wife  treats  the  man  who  runs  the  threshing  machine, 
when  he  seats  himself  at  her  table. 

The  owner's  wife  did  not  live  much  longer  with  him, 
but  that  is  her  story,  and  must  forever  lie  at  the  bottom 
of  the  ocean  of  untold  tales,  unless  Emmett  should  wish 
to  tell  it,  and  Emmett  never  will. 

On  the  last  day  of  the  circus  Emmett  went  to  his 


1 66  EMMETT  LAWLER 

rival's  stall.  The  mule  immediately  threw  back  its  ears 
and  tried  to  bite  him. 

"You  poor  jackass,  I  want  to  part  friends,"  said  Em- 
mett.  "You  take  your  work  too  seriously,  and  all  you 
get  out  of  it  is  a  handful  of  oats;  why  did  you  make 
an  ass  out  of  yourself  when  the  boss  snapped  his  whip?" 

The  mule  looked  at  Emmett,  and  pointed  its  ears  at 
him  as  if  to  say,  "I  was  born  an  ass,  but  you  made  one 
out  of  yourself  for  ten  dollars  a  week,  and  you  swelled 
all  up  because  you  ate  at  the  Performer's  table." 

"Now,  Emmett,"  said  the  owner's  wife,  when  the 
final  leave-taking  came,  "buy  yourself  a  new  suit  when 
you  strike  Chicago,  and  do  write  me  a  letter  once  in  a 
while,  for  you  are  far  too  good  a  card  to  lose  in  the 
shuffle.  Every  woman  holds  a  lot  of  deuces  in  her 
hand.  You  may  only  be  a  deuce  now,  but  you  might 
grow  into  a  ten  spot." 

"Will  you  answer  if  I  write?"  he  asked. 

"Indeed  I  will,"  she  said;  "be  good,  and  give  State 
Street  the  once  over  for  me.  I  may  be  there  in  a  month 
myself." 

The  next  day  Emmett  reached  Chicago  with  his  wages 
and  a  light  heart. 

Many  of  the  performers  were  with  him,  and  they 
made  merry  for  the  day,  and  then  went  their  devious 
ways. 


CHICAGO 

CHICAGO  has  always  been  the  mecca  of  vagabonds  and 
thieves,  of  thriving  wealth  and  miserable  destitution. 
It  has  held  within  its  heart  the  hopes  and  fears  of 
millions  of  human  atoms  who  struggled  remorselessly 
on,  and  burdened  their  lives  with  trifles,  and  laughed 
and  sang  and  quarreled  as  though  the  happy  city  was 
Heaven,  and  not  a  stepping  stone  into  the  Great 
Oblivion. 

The  day  after  Emmett  arrived  the  sun  was  hidden 
behind  the  clouds.  A  mist  hung  over  the  city  and  crept 
down  into  the  canyoned  streets,  eating  its  way  into  the 
hearts  of  temperamental  human  beings,  lodging  there 
like  an  unwelcome  guest. 

The  wrestler  of  the  mule  was  facing  another  prob 
lem.  Electric  lights  burned  in  the  office  buildings  and 
stores,  and  people  hurried  hither  and  thither,  buying 
and  selling,  scheming  and  dreaming,  like  worried  phan 
toms  of  Sleepless  Specters  in  a  City  of  Perpetual  Night. 

A  wind  flew  across  the  cold  water  of  Lake  Michigan, 
and  gathered  momentum  as  it  flew.  It  whirled  through 
the  streets  of  the  city,  and  blew  its  icy  breath  in  the 
faces  of  the  tired  beggars  and  florid  wives  of  wealth. 

The  wretched  day  seemed  to  write  with  Dostoievsky's 
pen  a  chapter  of  gloom  which  permeated  even  the  gayest 
heart. 

167 


1 68  EMMETT  LAWLER 

In  the  vast  wilderness  of  human  beings  there  was  no 
soul  that  Emmett  knew.  The  impressionable  boy  was 
thrown  back  upon  himself,  while  retrospection  taunted 
him  like  a  sensuous  maiden  with  sad,  blue  eyes.  Then 
introspection  came  like  a  harlot  with  a  withered  rose  in 
her  hand.  She  threw  the  faded  petals  upon  the  street, 
as  she  asked  the  boy  just  what  he  intended  to  do  with  his 
life. 

Would  he  sink  or  fight,  or  would  he  become  one  of 
the  wretched  members  of  the  tatterdemalion  army  who 
had  asked  him  for  a  dime  that  morning? 

Emmett  was  lonely  when  the  beggar  had  approached 
him.  What  a  story  he  had  told?  True  or  not,  it  was 
the  record  of  grim  battle  with  life,  that  he  must  have 
touched  somewhere,  or  else  the  man  was  an  embryo  Zola 
with  vermin-ridden  clothes. 

How  the  words  from  the  weak,  sagging  mouth  beat 
a  tattoo  and  danced  a  weird  fandango  in  Emmett's  heart 
and  brain ! 

His  bleared  eyes  would  close  as  he  talked,  as  if  he 
were  tired  of  gazing  at  storms.  "I  ain't  had  nary  a 
bite  in  two  days,  only  what  I  stole  off  the  lunch  counter 
at  Hinky  Dinks,"  he  said. 

His  mouth  was  in  need  of  teeth,  his  eyes  were  in  need 
of  glasses,  his  decrepit  body  in  need  of  clothes.  He 
scratched  himself  as  he  said,  "I'm  crummy  as  a  cuckoo, 
an*  I  can't  get  rid  of  yem."  Vermin-ridden  hoboes  had 
been  seen  long  before  this  by  Emmett,  and  he  knew 
the  remedy  for  it. 

"Can't  you  get  your  clothes  fumigated  ?"  the  boy  asked. 


CHICAGO  169 

"Too  far  gone,  they'd  fall  to  pieces,"  replied  the 
vagabond. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  the  Salvation  Army  Head 
quarters?  They'll  give  you  a  suit." 

The  old  pessimist  attempted  to  laugh.  "Yes,— for 
four  or  five  dollars,"  he  said. 

"How's  that?"  asked  Emmett. 

"Well,  y'u  see,  people  gives  'em  to  the  Army,  an* 
they  sells  'em  to  the  'boes.  They  say  they  has  to  pay 
salaries." 

"Hell   again,"   said   Emmett. 

"I'll  say  she  is.  She's  a  great  life  if  you  don't  git 
the  measles,"  said  the  bleared  old  sinner. 

As  he  stood  there  talking,  he  wondered  how  Ruth 
would  have  treated  this  old  man.  Well  he  knew  that 
she  would  have  done  everything  within  her  power  for 
him. 

The  boy  went  to  the  Army  Headquarters  Store,  and 
bought  an  old  suit  and  clean  underclothing  for  the  beg 
gar,  who  placed  them  under  his  arm  and  hurried  away, 
saying  thankfully  as  he  did  so, 

"I'll  hurry  over  to  the  Free  Bath  House  an'  clean  up, 
been  on  the  'bo  yourself,  ain't  you,  Lad?" 

"Yes,  old  scout,  I'll  be  there  again,"  replied  Emmett, 
"so  long." 

"So  long,"  said  the  derelict;  "thankee  fur  the  Java 
and  rolls,  too." 


VIVIAN 

THE  days  passed,  and  Emmett's  money  passed  with 
them.  Life  sank  down  like  a  vulture  with  sharp  talons, 
and  drove  its  beak  into  his  heart. 

He  divided  his  time  between  a  cheap  saloon  on  South 
State  Street  and  the  Public  Library.  At  the  rear  of 
this  saloon  was  a  wine  room  which  was  frequented  by 
many  women. 

Emmett  met  a  young  woman  there  one  evening  who 
was  clinging  desperately  to  the  ragged  edge  of  life. 

It  had  been  twenty  years  since  Vivian's  mother  had 
been  made  glad  because  she  was  a  girl,  as  she  already 
had  a  son  five  years  old. 

Vivian's  father  was  a  steel  worker,  one  of  those 
happy  men  who  work  twelve  hours  a  day,  seven  days  a 
week.  He  would  not  see  the  color  of  his  house,  if  it 
had  any,  from  October  until  April,  as  he  would  leave 
early  in  the  morning  and  return  late  at  night,  in  dark 
ness  each  way. 

As  a  girl,  Vivian  used  to  raise  geraniums  in  old  tin 
cans,  until  they  would  become  root  bound,  and  die, 
and  then  she  would  wonder  what  killed  them.  Once  a 
German  laborer  told  her  that  the  leaves  could  not 
breathe  in  the  heavy,  smoky  atmosphere.  She  was  only 
twelve  at  the  geranium  raising  incident,  but  after  a  while 

170 


VIVIAN  171 

she  began  to  see  that  neither  the  geraniums  or  the  peo 
ple  had  really  lived  in  her  childhood  neighborhood. 

After  Vivian  was  born  her  mother  and  father  must 
have  read  something  about  the  danger  of  race  suicide, 
and  the  horror  the  country  faced  if  there  were  no  chil 
dren  in  the  world.  Had  there  been  no  children  in  the 
world,  to  be  reared  like  gutter  rats  in  order  that  they 
might  be  exploited  later,  and  not  much  later  either,  the 
world  would  have  been  better  off,  or  to  put  it  more 
clearly — the  children  would. 

But  Vivian's  father  saw  every  vital  issue  as  clearly  as 
an  owl  in  broad  daylight.  Vivian's  mother  was  to  be 
pitied.  But  children  came  one  after  another,  until  six 
of  them  slept  in  a  room.  Vivian  became  the  guardian 
of  the  brood. 

Vivian's  mother  then  rested  a  spell  in  a  wretched  bed, 
in  a  wretched  street,  in  the  most  damnably  wretched 
section  of  Chicago. 

The  steel  mill  would  shut  down  every  so  often,  and 
then  all  the  poor  devils  who  labored  therein  could  think 
about  was  when  it  would  start  again.  This  is  Vivian's 
story,  but  not  in  Vivian's  words.  Her  words  would 
have  to  be  written  on  asbestos  paper,  which  would  make 
too  thick  a  book.  And  besides,  some  sweet  woman,  per 
haps  a  leading  club  member,  may  read  these  lines,  for  girls 
in  steel  districts  talking  over  the  agonies  of  their  girl 
hood — do  not  often  say,  "God  bless  us  every  one,"  like 
Tiny  Tim. 

Anyhow,  it  seemed  that  after  Vivian's  mother  had 
been  given  a  rest,  she  just  decided  to  take  a  longer  one. 


172  EMMETT  LAWLER 

So  she  went  away  for  a  long  while  and  left  her  chil 
dren  to  the  tender  mercy  of  God.  She  had  heard  that 
he  was  kind  and  just,  but  she  had  no  choice  in  the  mat 
ter,  for  she  was  very  tired.  Her  partner,  the  grim  Race 
Perpetuator,  was  out  of  work  at  the  time  she  died, 
so  a  kind-hearted  undertaker  took  charge  of  the  body, 
and  only  charged  the  good  man  five  times  what  it  was 
actually  worth.  The  undertaker  told  him  as  he  was 
out  of  work  at  the  time  he  would  make  the  charges 
reasonable. 

When  the  shop  returned  to  work,  a  certain  amount 
was  deducted  from  the  pay  of  the  philosopher  of  logic 
in  order  that  the  doctor  and  undertaker  would  nut  lose. 

Vivian's  brother  went  to  work  at  fourteen,  but  Vivian 
went  to  work  many  years  earlier.  The  squalling  chil 
dren  needed  some  one,  so  upon  her  weak  shoulders  was 
placed  the  history  of  an  American  family  .  .  .  Vivian 
lived  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and  there  was  a  saloon 
on  each  corner,  a  half  block  either  way  from  her  home. 
The  steel  workers  drank  glass  after  glass  of  rotgut 
whisky,  and  glass  after  glass  of  wretched  beer  to  rinse 
the  taste  out  of  their  mouths. 

When  Vivian  was  fifteen  love  pranced  into  her  life 
like  a  drab  little  pony  from  fairyland.  It  colored  her 
whole  existence.  The  lover  was  a  young  steel  worker. 
He  took  her  to  shows,  and  helped  her  pass  away  the  long 
evenings.  She  had  nothing  to  give  in  return,  so  woman 
like,  she  gave  all. 

Before  she  was  sixteen,  she  was  carried  through  hell 
on  a  stretcher,  but  God  was  as  merciful  as  ever,  and 


VIVIAN  173 

the  seven-months  baby  joined  its  grandmother.  The 
hero  of  the  story,  like  so  many  heroes,  was  no  hero  at 
all.  He  deserted. 

Some  of  the  kindhearted  people  in  her  neighborhood 
ridiculed  her,  but  to  the  everlasting  credit  of  humanity, 
they  were  not  in  the  majority.  The  girl  was  broken  up, 
and  frail  and  trembling, — a  green  leaf  withered  too 
early,  facing  the  winds  of  late  October. 

There  was  an  Italian  girl  in  the  neighborhood  who 
thought  many  things  out  for  herself.  She  went  to  see 
Vivian,  and  talked  to  her,  while  the  child  clutched  her 
in  utter  gratitude.  The  Italian  girl  called  the  married 
women  who  had  no  mercy,  "a  lot  of  legalized  prosti 
tutes!"  The  Italian  girl  kept  the  wolf  from  the  door 
by  entertaining  wolves  at  night,  after  she  was  through 
entertaining  at  a  large  Italian  restaurant. 

The  Race  Perpetuator  remarried.  A  Hungarian 
woman  took  charge  of  the  brood,  which  the  good  man 
gave  her  as  a  wedding  present. 

Vivian  drifted — until  she  met  Emmett  in  the  wine 
room.  Boy  and  girl  were  like  two  ships  hailing  each 
other  with  the  distress  signal,  though  countless  ships 
sailed  all  about  them. 

"How  are  you  to-night?"  asked  Emmett. 

"Fine, — I'm  as  cheerful  as  a  morgue,"  said  Vivian. 

Emmett  sat  near  her  and  removed  his  hat,  and  the  girl 

looked  at  his  hair,  as  he  laid  the  hat  on  the  table.    "You 

. 

think  you're  a  whole  ocean  'cause  you  got  waves  in 
your  hair,  don't  you?"  said  the  girl,  who  still  knew 
how  to  smile. 


174  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"No,  I  don't,"  replied  the  boy,  "for  I  know  I'm  a 
puddle,  all  dried  up." 

"Broke?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Not  broke,  but  smashed,"  said  the  boy.  "A  dollar 
would  look  bigger  to  me  than  Logan's  monument  over 
in  Grant  Park." 

"You  should  save  your  money,  and  buy  drinks  for 
wild  women.  Didn't  you  read  about  that  man  in  the 
Bible  who  saved  a  dollar  a  day  for  a  million  days?" 
The  boy  smiled — a  pause,  then, 

"Loosen  up  and  buy  a  drink,"  said  he. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  as  she  pressed  the  button. 

The  drinks  ordered,  the  girl  looked  again  at  Emmett, 
and  said,  "Say,  Kid,  with  that  hair  of  yours,  you  ought 
to  go  down  on  Custom  House  Place.  Red-headed  boys 
are  popular  with  half-tame  women." 

"Perhaps  I'll  go  down  there,"  replied  Emmett.  Both 
drank  the  vile  liquor  and  shuddered,  then  the  girl  held  the 
glass  in  her  right  hand,  and  rubbed  it  upon  the  wet 
table. 

"Where  do  you  sleep,  if  you're  broke  ?"  she  asked,  still 
holding  her  glass. 

"On  a  chair  in  the  back  of  the  lobby  of  a  fifteen-cent 
joint,"  was  the  reply. 

"Don't  the  dicks  ever  bother  you?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  once  in  a  while,  some  of  them  come  in  and  look 
for  some  desperate  desperado  asleep  on  a  chair.  But  the 
night  clerk  likes  me,  and  sticks  up  for  me,  and  some 
times  when  the  beds  are  not  all  full  he  lets  me  have  one 
of  them  about  two  in  the  morning." 


VIVIAN  175 

"He's  not  a  bad  fellow  then,"  said  the  girl  with  quick 
feeling. 

"I'll  say  he's  not.  He's  an  honest  to  God  man,  but  he'll 
be  pushing  the  clouds  before  another  year,  he's  almost 
dead  now,"  said  he. 

"It's  tough  when  a  good  guy  dies ;  there's  not  enough  of 
'em  in  the  world  now,"  said  Vivian. 

"Nope,  good  guys  are  as  scarce  as  horses  in  the  middle 
of  the  ocean." 

"A  darn  sight  scarcer  than  that,"  replied  Vivian. 

"Why  don't  you  get  out  of  this  life?"  asked  the  girl. 

"Why  don't  you,  it's  always  easier  for  a  girl." 

"Easier,  my  God!  don't  make  me  laugh,  my  lips  are 
cracked ;  why,  you  talk  like  a  funny  paper." 

"Well,  men  give  you  money,  and  they  don't  give  it  to 
boys,"  said  Emmett. 

"Listen,  Kid,  men  don't  give  money,  you've  got  to  take 
it  from  them." 

"Don't  you  like  men?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Once  in  a  while  you  find  a  good  one,  but  the  most  of 
them  are  devils.  Men  run  this  world  that  us  kids  live 
in,  the  selfish  bastards,  and  most  of  them  only  give  women 
what  they  take.  And  women — the  damn  fools — stand  for 
it.  But  believe  me, — oh,  what's  the  use — why  worry?" 
she  said,  as  she  pressed  the  button  again. 

The  bartender  leered  at  her  as  he  brought  the  drinks. 
When  he  had  gone,  the  girl  smiled,  and  said, 

"He's  the  kind  that  wants  a  girl — ,  well,  he's  a  man." 

Emmett  looked  at  the  outspoken  girl  across  the  table 
from  him.  Her  eyes  were  a  vivid  blue,  and  her  hair  a 


176  EMMETT  LAWLER 

beautiful  shade  of  blonde.  Her  clothing  was  neat,  and 
more  in  the  quiet  taste  of  the  well-bred  girl.  She  wore  a 
tiny  gold  chain  about  her  neck.  A  plain  gold  ring  was  on 
the  third  finger  of  her  right  hand,  and  noticing  Emmett 
look  at  it,  she  explained,  "That's  my  mother's  wedding 
ring,  and  it  made  her  dance  to  a  hell  of  a  tune.  Dad 
wanted  it  buried  with  her,  the  damn  nut,  but  I  took  it  off 
her  finger."  There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then  the 
girl  resumed,  "Here's  a  dollar  and  a  half,  and  I'll  tell  you 
what  to  do.  There's  a  Newsboys'  Home  about  seven 
blocks  away,  on  Wabash  Avenue.  You  go  there  and  tell 
the  matron  a  hard  luck  tale;  that  ought  to  be  easy.  I 
know  some  of  the  boys  there,  and  you  can  get  a  bed  and 
two  meals  a  day  there  anyhow.  It  beats  sitting  up,  or 
carrying  the  banner." 

"Who  ever  told  you  about  carrying  the  banner  ?"  asked 
the  boy. 

"Heavens,  Kid,  I've  walked  the  streets  all  night  my 
self." 

Then  as  they  rose  to  go  she  said,  "Drift  in  here  any 
night,  and  I'll  see  you.  I  must  go  home  now." 

Emmett  walked  along  State  Street  until  he  reached 
Fourteenth.  He  then  turned  toward  Wabash  Avenue. 

When  he  reached  the  Home  he  was  met  by  a  distin 
guished  looking  woman  who  wore  gold  nose  glasses,  and 
had  her  iron  gray  hair  dressed  in  a  most  becoming  man 
ner. 

She  asked  him  questions  in  a  most  friendly  way.  The 
boy  paid  a  dollar  in  advance,  which  left  him  fifty  cents  to 
spend  in  riotous  living. 


VIVIAN  177 

The  Home  was  a  three-story  building.  Boys  drifted  in 
and  out  of  the  play-room  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  Box 
ing  matches  were  held  there  among  the  boys  for  their  own 
amusement.  Three  of  the  boys  who  boxed  there  became 
pugilists  of  national  reputation  a  few  years  later. 

November  left  the  city  in  the  grip  of  winter,  and  De 
cember  came  and  carried  out  the  program.  Emmett  fre 
quently  met  Vivian,  and  one  day  he  spent  six  hours  with 
her  in  the  Art  Institute. 

They  wandered  through  room  after  room  of  the  Temple 
of  Beauty,  and  once  the  girl  stood  spellbound  before  the 
picture  of  a  tenement  house  which  contained  red  flowering 
geraniums  in  the  window. 

"Painting  must  be  a  wonderful  gift,"  said  the  daughter 
of  the  Race  Perpetuator.  "Just  think,  the  man  who 
painted  that  had  to  feel  it  in  his  soul." 

"Yes,"  said  Emmett,  "and  maybe  he  was  a  poor  devil 
who  sweat  blood  to  learn  how  to  make  those  red  flowers." 

"Why  do  the  papers  make  fun  of  artists  and  writers  for 
being  poor  ?"  she  asked. 

"Well,"  replied  Emmett,  "it  was  never  popular  to  be 
poor,  only  in  the  Bible." 

They  came  to  the  room  where  hung  the  pictures  of 
George  Inness.  One  was  a  landscape  picture  of  the  Cats- 
kill  Mountains  in  which  the  artist  blended  his  colors 
with  such  sublime  genius  that  he  made  the  picture  look 
far  more  beautiful  to  the  onlookers  than  ever  Nature 
could. 

"Gee,  Vivian!"  said  Emmett,  "old  Rip  Van  Winkle 
would  have  slept  over  twenty  years  in  a  place  like  that." 


178  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"Who  was  Rip  Van  Winkle  ?"  asked  the  girl. 
"He  was  a  man  who  slept  for  twenty  years  in  the  Cats- 
kills,  and  never  woke  up.    But  he  finally  awoke,  and  went 
home." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "we  all  sleep  longer  than  that,  in  the 
end."  As  she  gazed  at  the  picture,  its  haunting  beauty 
crept  into  her  soul.  "I  wonder,"  she  said,  "if  there  really 
is  a  place  as  pretty  as  that  in  the  world  ?" 

"You  should  see  Ohio  in  the  spring  and  summer,"  said 
Emmett. 

"All  I've  ever  seen,"  said  Vivian,  "is  the  parks  here  in 
the  summer,  and  darn  little  of  them,  and  I'm  crazy  about 
trees  and  flowers,  too." 

From  a  room  of  the  Art  Institute  they  looked  out  upon 
Lake  Michigan  tossing  like  an  immense  gray  and  blue 
blanket  in  the  wind. 

"Away  over  there,"  said  Emmett,  pointing,  "is  Michi 
gan." 

"And  away,  way  farther  off,"  said  the  girl,  "is  the  end 
of  the  world."  They  walked  down  Michigan  Boulevard 
till  they  came  to  Eldridge  Court,  where  Vivian  lived. 
"Wouldn't  you  like  to  be  a  great  artist?"  asked  Vivian. 
"I  surely  would,  for  you  can  make  your  own  world  then, 
and  tell  all  the  rest  of  the  people  to  go  to  the  devil." 

"It's  worth  a  lot  to  be  able  to  tell  every  one  to  go  to 
the  devil,  but  it  might  be  better  to  feel  that  way,  and  not 
tell  them.  For  everybody  has  their  troubles,  Vivian." 

"I  know,"  she  said,  "maybe  I  wouldn't  tell  them  if  I 
could.  Maybe  some  of  their  fathers  work  in  steel  mills, 
too." 


VIVIAN  179 

"I've  a  notion  to  go  to  New  York  after  Christmas," 
said  Emmett. 

"Never  spoil  a  good  notion,"  replied  Vivian,  "but  al 
ways  look  me  up  when  you  strike  Chicago.  Come  to  see 
me  Christmas,  and  we'll  eat  over  at  Colosimo's,  where 
Natalie  sings.  Natalie  was  always  good  to  me." 

"All  right,"  said  Emmett,  "I'll  see  you  on  Christmas, 
sure." 

Christmas  passed  at  the  Newsboys  Home  about  like  any 
other  day.  The  boys  jokingly  said,  "It's  Christmas  for 
some,  and  the  twenty-fifth  of  December  for  others." 

Some  of  them  knew  girls  of  Vivian's  type  over  their 
section  of  the  city.  However,  they  kept  the  matter  quiet, 
as  it  was  against  the  rules  of  the  Home  for  boys  to  min 
gle  with  girls  who  had  seen  much  of  life.  Though  no 
respectable  girl  ever  came  near  the  Home  and  but  very 
few  seemed  to  know  that  such  a  place  was  in  the  city. 
The  Board  of  Directors  and  their  wives  made  visits  once 
a  year — but  to  the  vast  number  of  men  and  women  in  the 
city,  the  Home  had  not  the  vaguest  reality. 

But  Emmett  had  a  happy  Christmas  at  Colosimo's,  and 
as  Vivian  said  the  next  day,  "Lordy,  we  got  as  stewed 
as  boiled  owls." 

The  day  after  New  Year's  Emmett  started  on  the  pil 
grimage  to  New  York. 


A  COLD  JOURNEY 

IT  was  bitterly  cold,  as  Emmett  waited  for  a  mail  train 
at  Grand  Crossing  with  a  young  rover  who  was  beating  his 
way  as  far  as  Cleveland.  The  snow  tried  hard  to  fall. 
"It's  too  cold  to  snow,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  Snow's  worse 
than  cold,  or  just  as  bad,"  said  the  youth. 

Emmett  looked  up  into  the  gray  atmosphere  which  was 
impenetrable  a  slight  distance  above  the  telegraph  poles. 

"We'll  not  meet  anybody  on  the  road  in  weather  like 
this,"  said  he. 

"No,"  replied  his  companion,  "the  dicks  won't  bother 
us  any,  it's  too  cold  for  them  to  be  out  much.  They  hug 
the  stove  in  cold  weather.  I  came  into  Chi  from  Omaha 
once,  and  they  never  bothered  me  at  all.  It  was  cold 
then,  too." 

Darkness,  never  very  far  away,  soon  replaced  the  gray- 
ness  of  the  drab  January  day.  Everything  became  as  still 
as  a  snow  scene  in  a  picture.  "Lord,  I  wish  that  rattler 
would  come,"  said  Emmett's  fellow  vagabond. 

"It'll  be  here  soon,"  replied  Emmett.  "It's  due  out  of 
La  Salle  Street  Station  at  five  o'clock." 

They  sat  quietly  a  train  length  from  the  Crossing  until 
a  headlight  appeared,  followed  by  the  click  of  the  wheels 
across  interlaced  tracks.  "Here  she  comes!"  the  youths 

180 


A  COLD  JOURNEY  181 

cried  in  unison,  as  gaining  momentum,  the  giant  engine 
drew  near. 

In  a  flash  the  lads  were  aboard,  and  with  coat  collars 
turned  up,  and  caps  pulled  low  over  their  eyes,  they 
clung  to  the  flying  train  that  roared  like  an  iron  monster 
through  the  night. 

Each  boy  had  money  enough  to  last  a  few  days,  and 
outside  of  the  cold,  which  soon  began  to  penetrate  to  the 
marrow  of  their  bones,  they  felt  no  worse  than  boys 
in  snug  homes  in  the  towns  through  which  the  train 
whirled. 

But  the  cold  was  a  reptile  with  fangs  that  steadily  be 
came  sharper.  When  each  stop  was  made  the  boys  would 
run  to  warm  themselves,  and  as  the  stops  were  of  short 
duration,  and  the  train  would  run  two  hours  at  a  time 
without  stopping,  it  required  courage  of  some  kind,  how 
ever  wasted,  to  cling  to  the  icy  handles  beneath  the  flying 
cinders. 

There  were  times  when  their  feet  became  heavy  as  lead, 
and  they  would  kick  them  desperately  against  the  car  to 
revive  the  ebbing  circulation. 

"If  we  can  only  stick  it  out  to  Sandusky,"  said  the  lad 
hopefully,  "we  can  make  it  the  rest  of  the  way;  it's  not 
far  then ;  are  you  game  ?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,"  replied  Emmert,  "I'll  stay  with  the  ship  if  you 
do."  Back  in  the  Pullman  cnr  people  slept  in  warm  beds. 

"It  must  be  great  to  roll  up  in  warm  blankets  and  sleep 
all  night,"  was  the  youth's  comment. 

"Well,  maybe  we  can  some  day,"  said  Emmett. 

"Yep,"  said  the  young  rover,  "maybe  it'll  rain  soup 


182  EMMETT  LAWLER 

to-morrow."  As  the  train  left  Sandusky  the  youth  said 
to  Emmett,  "Ever  been  in  Ohio  before,  pal?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Emmett,  "I  was  here  a  long  time,  once." 

"She's  a  great  old  state,"  said  the  youth  with  glad  feel 
ing  to  be  near  home  again,  "and  there's  some  great  people 
here,  too." 

"Yes,"  replied  Emmett.  "I  used  to  know  some  dandy 
folks  here." 

Choo-choo,  cho, — c-h-o-o, — the  engine  whistle  shrieked, 
as  the  train  neared  Cleveland.  "Oh,  boy!  that  sounds 
good — just  like  mother  callin'  dinner,"  was  the  remark 
made  by  the  youthful  Ohioan. 

"Have  you  got  a  mother?"  asked  Emmett. 

"You  bet  I  have,"  replied  the  boy,  "she's  a  good  scout, 
too." 

"Then  why  the  devil  don't  you  stay  with  her?"  asked 
Emmett. 

"Believe  me,  pal,  I  intend  to  after  this.  One  night  like 
this  is  enough  for  yours  truly.  I'm  done — cooked  on  both 
sides — and  frozen  through.  When  I  get  home,  I'll  say, 
'Mother,  I've  come  home  to  you,'  and  she'll  probably  say, 
'Yes,  you  young  scamp,  you've  come  home  to  eat/  But 
I'll  show  her  this  time,  you're  darn  right  I'll  show  her. 
My  dad'll  be  glad  I  wasn't  a  girl  yet." 

And  then  the  train  reached  the  dilapidated  station  at 
Cleveland.  The  youths  left  it  and  were  quickly  lost 
among  the  crowds.  Their  legs  were  numb  and  they  first 
had  difficulty  in  walking.  They  went  to  the  station  and 
washed,  and  passing  the  depot  restaurant,  where  higher 


A  COLD  JOURNEY  183 

prices  were  charged,  they  had  a  hearty  breakfast  in  a 
small  place  across  the  street. 

After  the  meal,  they  separated  at  the  Public  Square. 
A  reaction  from  the  effects  of  the  strenuous  night  came 
over  Emmett.  It  was  in  Cleveland  that  Ruth  had  so 
often  visited  with  her  mother. 

Ohio  was  indeed  a  graveyard  of  memories.  Ruth  and 
the  Faith  Healer  had  burned  out  life's  brief  candle  here. 
There  had  been  drama  enough  in  their  lives  to  have  made 
old  Ibsen  envious.  And  now  they  were  as  quiet  as  an 
empty  house  through  which  the  wind  had  blown. 

Was  Slim  Eddie  still  alive  ?  Who  lived  in  the  home  of 
the  Faith  Healer  ?  Did  Effie  look  as  pretty  as  ever  in  her 
checked  aprons? 

Emmett  thought  it  would  be  fine  to  marry  Effie.  She 
was  as  kind  as  she  was  cheerful.  Life  was  not  so  sad 
when  she  was  near,  and  besides,  Effie  had  cried  when  he 
went  away.  The  sudden  notion  came  to  him  to  see  Effie. 
Then  he  thought — "no,  that  would  never  do,"  he  would 
make  good  first.  But  he  would  write  to  her  at  once,  and 
ask  her  to  write  to  him  at  New  York  City,  General  De 
livery.  He  would  write  a  postal  card  before  he  forgot  it. 

As  he  wrote  he  thought  of  Vivian,  and  sent  her  a  card 
also. 

"Why,  the  world  was  not  so  lonely,"  he  thought.  He 
had  a  few  friends  in  his  life.  Could  he  win  out  before 
these  people  died,  who  had  faith  in  him?  He  thought 
of  the  people  who  had  been  kind  to  him.  He  was  a  wise 
youth  and  tried  to  forget  all  unkindness.  He  figured  out 


184  EMMETT  LAWLER 

how  long  it  would  take  his  postals  to  arrive  at  their  dif 
ferent  destinations. 

He  thought  he  would  like  to  live  as  the  Faith  Healer 
had  lived,  with  the  love  of  all  who  knew  him.  Effie  would 
be  his  wife,  and  he  could  go  to  sleep  every  night  in  her 
arms.  How  her  eyes  danced,  and  how  red  her  cheeks 
were.  He  would  get  to  see  the  sunsets  again,  for  there 
was  surely  no  place  in  the  world  where  the  sun  set  as 
it  did  in  Ohio. 

He  lived  in  the  past  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  and 
even  the  memory  of  Ruth  and  the  Healer  did  not  com 
pletely  spoil  it  for  him.  He  went  to  the  Public  Library, 
and  stayed  until  evening,  and  after  leaving  there  he  went 
into  a  cheap  saloon  where  rovers  gathered  from  all  the 
states  in  the  union. 

If  he  could  find  company  he  would  ride  on  through 
that  night,  as  it  was  lonesome  riding  alone.  He  might 
run  across  some  one.  Anyhow,  he  would  get  a  drink,  or 
two,  and  sample  the  free  lunch.  For  if  one  were  not  par 
ticular,  he  could  always  make  a  meal  out  of  the  free 
lunch.  As  he  walked  to  the  end  of  the  bar,  there  stood 
a  young  fellow  with  his  elbows  on  it,  his  eyes  roving 
about  the  room.  A  filled  whisky  glass  was  before  him. 

Emmett  stood  near  him,  and  laid  his  money  on  the  bar 
in  a  nonchalant  manner,  and  said,  "Drink  up,  bo,  and 
have  one  on  me."  The  stranger  looked  at  him  in  a  kindly 
way,  and  said,  "Don't  care  if  I  do." 

Emmett  noticed  a  pallor  about  him,  and  quickly  turned 
his  gaze  away  from  the  clean-cut  features.  The  stranger 
drank  fastidiously  and  Emmett  observed  it  at  once.  He 


A  COLD  JOURNEY  185 

then  laid  a  dollar  on  the  bar  and  said,  "Have  another." 
When  that  was  drunk,  the  stranger  asked,  "Been  in 
Cleveland  long?" 

Emmett  replied,  "No,  I  just  came  in  from  Chi  this 
morning."  Then  Emmett  said,  "You  been  here  long?" 

And  the  stranger  answered,  "No,  I  just  got  in  from 
Columbus,  been  on  a  visit  down  there,  board  and  room 
free ;  they  gave  me  five  bucks  when  I  left.  Nice  people—- • 
swell  place."  He  placed  the  empty  glass  on  the  bar,  "I'm 
goin*  east  right  away,  and  wish  I  had  some  one  to  go 
along." 

"I'm  in  the  same  boat.    I'll  pal  up  with  you." 

"Let's  beat  it  then,"  said  the  stranger;  "we  can  still 
make  the  20th  Century  Limited." 

They  reached  Ashtabula  in  the  face  of  a  driving  wind 
which  grew  stronger  each  minute.  Snow  had  drifted 
along  the  tracks,  and  the  wind  blew  flurries  of  it  in  the 
faces  of  the  rovers.  The  cold  made  their  bodies  numb, 
and  their  hands  were  so  stiff  they  could  hardly  grasp  the 
iron  ladder. 

"I'm  afraid  my  ears  are  frozen,"  said  Emmett. 

"Life's  too  damn  short  to  go  through  this  grief,  let's 
beat  it  for  a  bed,"  said  the  traveler  from  Columbus. 

They  entered  a  small  hotel  near  the  track  which  served 
as  a  lodging  place  for  trainmen  from  other  divisions 
along  the  line. 

Small  tables  were  along  the  wall  of  the  combined  res 
taurant  and  lounging  room.  The  lunch  counter  was  but 
a  few  feet  from  the  tables,  and  men  sat  upon  stools  and 
talked  of  many  things. 


i86  EMMETT  LAWLER 

There  was  a  man  in  charge  who  looked  as  if  he  might 
don  his  coat  any  moment  and  walk  away  with  all  the 
available  cash.  He  never  looked  straight  at  an  object, 
but  always  out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes.  He  busied 
himself  now  wiping  off  the  lunch  counter  and  moved  the 
limp  rag  in  his  hand  in  a  half  circle  each  way,  but  in  doing 
so  he  even  seemed  afraid  to  look  at  the  rag. 

His  appearance  was  not  his  fault,  nor  his  gaze  either, 
for  they  were  both  of  a  deceptive  order.  The  man  saw 
at  a  glance  that  the  two  late  comers  were  hoboes,  but  he 
was  as  obliging  and  courteous  as  he  would  well  have 
been  to  the  Vanderbilts  themselves,  could  these  worthies 
by  any  stretch  of  the  most  vivid  imagination  have  entered 
such  a  place,  on  such  a  terrible  night.  Mr.  Glancing  Side 
ways  said,  "It  won't  get  too  hot  to  sleep  to-night,  eh 
'boes?"  Before  either  rover  answered  a  heavy  engineer 
entered  with  the  words, 

"Number  21  stalled  thirty  miles  out." 

"That  so,"  said  Mr.  Glancing  Side-ways,  "a  guy  can 
thank  God  for  houses  on  a  night  like  this." 

"Why  ring  in  God,"  said  the  engineer,  "lots  of  men 
ain't  got  houses."  The  engineer  had  not  closed  the  door 
carefully,  and  it  flew  open  as  though  an  army  of  spirits 
had  stormed  it.  Snow  whirled  in  the  room,  and  the  wind 
came  from  the  lake,  like  the  shrieks  and  shouts  of  animals 
and  people  in  pain, — a  mighty  crescendo  of  howls  which 
even  the  closed  door  only  faintly  subdued. 

"If  this  wind  ever  goes  down,  I'll  trek  on  home,"  said 
a  friendly  engineer  with  a  face  as  round  as  the  moon,  and 
a  head  as  hairless  as  the  palm  of  Emmett's  hand.  His 


A  COLD  JOURNEY  187 

eyes  were  blue  and  gray,  and  quietly  soft,  as  if  storms 
along  railroads  had  only  made  them  kindly.  Emmett  pic 
tured  to  himself  the  great  shoulders  leaning  out  of  the 
cab  of  the  swaying  engine  as  it  thundered  over  the  tracks^ 
He  wondered  what  he  thought  about  as  his  powerful  hand 
held  the  throttle  that  sent  the  roaring  thing  of  iron 
through  the  snow. 

"Which  way,  kid  ?"  asked  the  moon- faced  engine  driver. 

"No  way  at  all  till  morning,"  answered  Emmett.  "I'm 
a  guest  for  the  night.  It's  cold  enough  to  freeze  the  ears 
off  a  brass  monkey — and  I'm  lucky  to  be  inside,  for  once." 

"I'll  say  you're  lucky,"  said  the  engineer's  fireman,  "be 
luckier  still,  and  both  you  drifters  eat  some  ham  and  eggs 
with  me.  No  insult  though,  don't  take  it  that  way,  for 
I've  got  a  meal  ticket  that  ain't  ever  been  punched." 

"Tramp  came  in  here  the  other  day  and  ate  a  big  feed," 
said  the  engineer,  "and  when  he  got  through  he  told  the 
boss  he  had  no  kale  and  no  meal  ticket  he  could  punch." 

"'In  that  case/  said  the  boss,  I'll  just  punch  your 
face/  so  he  ran  after  the  scamp,  but  he  fell  over  a  railroad 
tie  and  the  bugger  got  away. 

"  'Those  damn  tramps  have  got  more  nerve  than  I  got 
brains/  was  what  the  boss  said  when  he  got  back,  and 
then  a  brakie  said  that  a  tramp  oughta  have  more  nerve 
'an  that,  and  then  the  boss  did  git  sore." 

The  wind  still  roared  outside  when  the  meal  had  been 
finished.  The  men  lounged  about  with  nerves  at  ease, 
as  men  will  who  have  long  learned  the  folly  of  wailing 
at  the  elements. 

The  man  from  Columbus  was  a  handsome  chap,  with  a 


1 88  EMMETT  LAWLER 

personality  that  inspired  warmth  in  all  who  met  him. 
Little  mannerisms  and  short  sentences  which  Emmett  had 
observed  had  made  him  feel  that  the  stranger  had  not  al 
ways  been  an  outcast. 

Even  as  he  talked  with  the  men  there  was  that  quiet 
poise,  or  inherent  quality  of  breeding  which  marks  the 
superior  man  in  any  company.  His  eyes  were  the  eyes 
of  a  man  who  had  seen  trouble,  and  even  when  he  smiled, 
there  was  a  tinge  of  sadness  about  them.  He  never 
laughed  outright,  and  the  broadest  wit  failed  to  send  him 
into  the  same  guffaws  as  the  railroad  men.  His  smile 
was  almost  forced,  as  a  man  smiles  at  a  story  to  which 
he  must  listen  a  second  time.  His  teeth  were  even  and 
white,  and  the  faintest  smile  revealed  them.  He  was 
youthful  looking,  though  he  had  the  calm  of  a  man  past 
thirty  who  has  seen  more  than  most  men  past  sixty.  Em 
mett  thought  that  women  surely  liked  him,  for  he  was  so 
forceful  and  easy  in  his  manner,  so  bland  and  masterful 
at  the  same  time.  An  iron  man  in  a  velvet  suit. 


AN  EX-CONVICT  TELLS  A  STORY 

THE  talk  drifted  toward  the  law,  and  the  man  who  made 
war  upon  it.  The  engineer  with  the  round  face  said, 

"Fellow  down  in  Perkins  County  pulled  a  new  stunt 
when  I  was  a  kid.  He  had  an  old  team  of  plug  horses, 
and  a  wagon  older  than  the  team.  Well,  sir,  what  did  he 
do,  but  drive  them  plugs  clear  across  the  state  to  where 
he  knew  there  was  a  big  team  in  a  new  red  barn  way  off 
from  the  road,  an*  where  the  house  hadn't  been  built  yet. 
This  was  in  the  old  days,  when  railroads  were  scarcer'n 
bartenders  at  a  Sunday  School.  Well — believe  me,  or  not, 
that  chap  drove  into  that  barn  and  traded  wagons  an* 
teams,  an'  drove  a  nice  team  of  blacks  out  o'  there  hitched 
to  a  big  new  wagon.  He  timed  everything  nice,  and  the 
night  was  blacker'n  the  ace  of  spades.  You  couldn't  hear 
the  wind  buzzin'  over  the  telephone  wires  in  them  days, 
there  was  none — no  wires,  I  mean.  By  Thunder!  that 
guy  set  the  barn  afire,  and  burns  team  and  wagon  up,  and 
drives  off. 

"They  got  him  two  years  later.  How  do  you  reckon 
they  did  it?  Well,  the  old  plugs  had  shoes  on,  and  their 
feet  were  smaller,  and  the  big  team  had  no  shoes  on,  an* 
they  traced  the  bird  on  that.  He  was  ridin'  home  one 
night  from  a  dance,  a  horseback,  too,  with  his  girl,  and 
they  pinched  him.  They'd  first  called  at  his  home  and 

189 


EMMETT  LAWLER 

told  his  old  mother  they  were  his  friends  and  of  course 
she  told  'em  where  he  was.  'Course  she  thought  her  son 
had  traded  for  the  team. 

"They  sent  him  over  to  Columbus  after  he'd  broke  his 
dad  defendin'  him.  But  here's  the  funny  thing,  he  got 
pardoned,  went  to  Canada  and  changed  his  name,  and  his 
nephew,  who's  my  age,  told  me  t'other  day  that  he'd  died 
a  month  ago — a  banker, — and  a  deacon  in  a  church — 
can  you  beat  it?" 

The  last  words  came  like  the  shout  of  a  prosecuting 
attorney,  and  echoed  over  the  room. 

A  deep  silence  fell  over  it,  and  the  wind  had  temporarily 
abated.  Emmett's  companion  had  picked  up  his  spoon  and 
rattled  it  in  his  empty  cup. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "a  fellow  can't  beat  John  Law,  even 
when  he  thinks  he  beats  him.  He's  a  wolf  fighting  millions 
of  people,  and  the  cards  are  marked.  And  they  can  say 
all  they  please,  but  the  wise  boy  travels  with  the  herd 
and  at  least  keeps  within  the  law.  I  haven't  reformed, 
I've  just  quit.  I'm  thirty-three  now,  and  I've  been  in 
every  corner  of  the  footstool.  I've  just  finished  eighteen 
months  of  a  two-year-stretch  at  Columbus,  and  I'm  done, 
though  it  took  three  jolts  to  finish  me." 

Every  man  in  the  room  looked  at  the  good  looking  rover, 
and  Mr.  Glancing  Side-ways  almost  looked  straight  at 
him,  so  fascinated  was  he  by  his  frank  manner,  as  he 
went  on,  "I  had  a  girl  in  Cleveland,  a  pretty  little  Jane, 
with  a  head  as  empty  as  a  church  on  Monday,  but  she 
was  sweet  meat.  Well,  I  planned  to  make  one  more  good 
haul  and  her  and  I  were  going  to  raise  poppies  in  Cali- 


AN  EX-CONVICT  TELLS  A  STORY        191 

fornia,  and  live  in  a  bungalow  and  sing  to  the  moon." 

There  was  a  pause,  as  the  narrator  smiled  vaguely  at 
the  recollection  of  it.  "How  did  you  come  to  git  your  last 
bit  ?"  asked  the  engineer  with  the  face  like  the  moon. 

"Yorky  Moran  and  I  turned  a  sixty- thousand-dollar 
stunt.  Everything  worked  fine,  like  we  had  planned  it  for 
three  weeks.  A  couple  of  things  came  up  later  though, — 
they  always  do.  It  was  old  Simpkins'  place  on  Euclid 
Avenue.  We  made  the  safe,  got  the  rocks  and  the  money, 
took  everything  but  the  family  Bible.  Old  Simpkins 
must  have  drank  coffee  before  he  went  to  bed,  as  he  stirred 
in  his  sleep  and  rolled  over.  We  were  just  about  to  leave 
the  room  when  he  pulled  the  rolling-over  stunt.  It  scared 
Moran,  and  he  turned  around  and  leaned  his  hand  on  the 
dresser  glass,  and  stood  there  a  minute  till  old  Simpkins 
got  to  dreaming  of  some  big  deal  maybe.  I  meant  to  wipe 
that  glass  off,  but  just  then  the  old  boy  says,  'Ah !'  in  his 
sleep,  like  a  guy  who's  had  a  fine  drink  of  liquor.  So  I 
forgot  it.  Mrs.  Simpkins  was  real  still,  and  snored  a  lit 
tle,  it  sounded  funny  to  hear  a  society  dame  snore,  but 
anyhow,  we  made  a  safe  getaway,  and  arranged  to  meet  at 
the  Jew  Fence's  place  in  three  days  to  peddle  the  junk." 

The  papers  laid  it  on  heavy  the  next  day,  and  every 
newspaper  reporter  turned  detective.  We  laid  low  for 
three  days  while  old  Simpkins  raised  his  reward  from  ten 
to  twenty  thousand  dollars,  for  the  return  of  his  stuff.  I 
had  a  hunch  that  day,  for  I  believe  in  hunches,  if  your 
spirit  is  tuned  up  to  get  them. 

"Anyhow,  I  walked  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
from  the  pawnbroker's  joint.  I  saw  two  dicks  in  a  hall- 


192  EMMETT  LAWLER 

way  near  the  joint,  and  inside  was  poor  old  Yorky  arguing 
with  the  Jew.  I  walked  down  a  piece,  and  watched.  For 
there  wasn't  a  thing  I  could  do.  The  dicks  closed  in,  and 
the  jig  was  over.  Moran  had  pulled  a  boner  when  he  put 
his  ringers  on  the  glass,  and  I  pulled  another  when  I  forgot 
to  wipe  the  prints  off." 

The  rover  looked  up  from  the  spoon  and  the  empty 
cup,  and  resumed,  "Me,  like  a  boob,  I  ran  my  head  right 
into  the  noose,  but  I  never  knew.  The  girl  liked  the  dick, 
and  played  me  for  a  sucker.  But  I  swallowed  the  bait, 
hook  and  all.  I  went  to  her  room,  and  as  I  opened  the 
door,  I  saw  the  big  house  at  Columbus  on  top  of  the 
dick's  gun.  God, — I  felt  rotten. 

"Well,  it's  old  stuff,  and  no  use  to  whine  now.  The 
judge  was  a  mighty  good  scout,  he  was  sure  white  to 
Moran  and  I,  and  some  day,  I'm  going  to  write  him  a  let 
ter  when  I  get  on  my  feet.  I  expected  ten  years,  and 
Moran  expected  all  of  it — till  he  died.  The  old  boy  felt 
good  that  day.  I  watched  him  look  out  of  the  window  at 
some  leaves  that  touched  the  glass,  and  I  looked  over  that 
way,  and  saw  a  sparrow  sit  on  the  window  sill  and  peck 
at  the  glass.  Moran  stood  up  for  the  sentence,  and  by 
thunder,  his  nibs  gave  him  five  years.  And  I  stood  up, 
and  he  looked  at  me,  just  like  an  old  dad  looks  at  a  young 
son,  and  he  gave  me  a  darn  fine  talk,  and  he  told  me  that 
I  was  too  regular  looking  a  fellow  to  be  a  crook,  and  that 
he  felt  like  investing  in  human  nature  and  be  lenient  with 
me,  and  he  only  slipped  me  two  years.  I  got  three  months 
off  each  year — and  by  God !  I'm  through  for  life,  just  as 
sure  as  there's  water  in  the  lake  out  there." 


AN  EX-CONVICT  TELLS  A  STORY        193 

The  rover  dropped  the  spoon  and  it  clattered  against  the 
saucer,  as  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair.  "What  became  of 
the  girl  ?"  asked  the  fireman  who  had  treated  the  rovers  to 
ham  and  eggs. 

"Oh,  her, — she  married  the  dick  right  away,  and  they 
beat  it  to  raise  poppies  with  the  twenty  thousand,  I  guess," 
and  he  resumed, 

"I  was  sore  at  women  for  a  while,  but  my  mother's  still 
a  square  shooter,  and  I'm  through — absolutely.  I'll  pick 
roses  on  the  straight  and  narrow  after  this,  and  she  can 
have  her  damned  poppies." 

It  was  past  midnight,  and  the  wind  roared  with  the  re 
newed  youth  of  morning.  Emmett  and  the  ex-convict 
climbed  up  the  rickety  stairs  to  bed.  But  not  before  they 
had  been  wished  a  cheerful  good  night  from  the  railroad 
men. 

When  they  entered  the  room  the  next  morning,  Mr. 
Glancing  Side-ways  was  on  duty.  "Here,  Mate,"  he 
called  to  the  ex-convict,  "is  a  note  left  for  you."  As  he 
handed  it  to  the  rover,  he  tore  the  envelope  open,  and  a 
five-dollar  bill  dropped  to  the  floor.  He  held  a  slip  of 
paper  in  his  hand,  and  read : 

"Remember  that  Judge,  and  forget  the  girl,— and  good  luck, 
old  boy,  you'll  win  yet." 

THE  RAILROAD  BOYS. 

The  ex-convict's  face  set,  as  if  fighting  back  an  emotional 
impulse,  "Well,  I'll  be  damned,"  he  said,  "can  you  beat 
that?"  and  Emmett  said, 

"We'll  score  a  big  white  mark  for  human  nature." 
They  said  "So  long"  and  walked  out  into  the  air. 


SNOW  BOUND 

THE  winter  morning  was  a  blending  of  gray  and  white. 
The  ground  and  all  immovable  objects  were  as  white  as 
winding  sheets.  The  lake  was  shrouded  in  complete 
grayness,  and  roared  and  swirled  near  the  tracks,  like  a 
seething  volcano  that  even  the  hand  of  winter  could  not 
calm. 

The  cold  day  seemed  to  touch  the  hearts  of  all  men, 
and  hoboes,  switchmen  and  brakemen  fraternized  one  with 
another,  like  soldiers,  with  petty  differences  settled,  who 
face  a  common  enemy. 

Emmett  and  the  ex-convict  loitered  in  the  switchmen's 
shanty,  in  which  a  coal  fire  blazed  in  a  box  stove.  A 
blinding  snow  storm  came  quickly  and  silently,  and  great 
snowflakes  were  driven  by  the  wind  in  every  direction. 
Emmett  stood  and  watched  them  chasing  each  other  in  the 
cold,  dreary  air.  A  switchman  entered  the  shanty,  his 
hat  and  shoulders  covered  with  snow.  "The  old  lady's 
shakin'  hell  out  of  a  white  goose  up  there,"  he  said,  and 
the  ex-convict  smiled  and  remarked, 

"I'll  say  so,  her  neighbors  are  helping  her  shake  the 
whole  damn  flock." 

Finally  a  freight  train  crept  slowly  out  of  the  yards. 
It  crept  even  more  slowly  as  it  reached  the  white  open 

194 


SNOW  BOUND  195 

country.  A  creeping  worm  upon  an  immense  white 
blanket. 

Emmett  and  his  comrade  were  aboard  it  in  an  empty 
box  car.  Never  did  tortoise  creep  along  a  country  road 
in  such  a  heart-breaking  manner,  as  did  the  freight  train 
along  the  steel  rails  near  Lake  Erie. 

The  hours  of  waiting  on  railroad  sidings,  the  loneliness, 
the  heavy  winter  day  which  benumbs  even  the  most  stolid 
animal,  brought  a  reaction  to  these  lads  who  were  anything 
but  stolid. 

But  the  longest  day  ends  at  last,  as  that  day  ended  for 
the  Man  on  Calvary. 

Not  an  object  had  moved  on  the  white  landscape  for 
hour  after  hour.  The  eye  could  not  penetrate  twenty  feet 
ahead.  A  black  bird  flew  along  the  fence  near  the  track, 
as  though  not  daring  to  fly  through  the  ocean  of  grayness 
overhead.  Finally  the  echo  of  the  whistle  of  a  faraway 
locomotive  was  heard  by  the  rovers  in  the  empty  box 
car.  It  came  closer  and  closer,  and  passed  the  freight 
on  the  siding. 

"Now  we'll  go,  thank  God,"  said  the  ex-convict.  The 
freight  train  went  on,  and  eventually  reached  Erie  before 
night  reached  it. 

The  rovers  decided  to  let  freight  trains  alone  in  the 
future,  and  ride  trains  of  the  better  class.  They  did  not 
write  the  directors  of  the  road  of  their  decision,  but  fol 
lowed  it  out  just  the  same. 

A  saloon  was  near  the  yards.  They  always  served  the 
purpose  of  a  wandering  vagrant,  for  he  could  wash  and 
comb  his  hair  in  them  at  all  times.  There  was  never  a 


196  EMMETT  LAWLER 

place  to  wash  in  the  church,  nor  in  the  local  Y.  M.  C.  A. 
As  one  of  the  Y.  M.  C.  A.  officials  said  to  Emmett  years 
later,  the  purpose  of  their  organization  was  not  to  reach 
out  for  boys  who  were  down  and  out,  but  to  keep  boys 
from  going  down.  To  Emmett  it  has  always  seemed  like 
saving  boys  from  drowning  on  dry  land.  But  that  is  a 
rather  vivid  story  in  itself. 

After  the  rovers  had  washed  and  combed  their  hair, 
they  walked  through  a  small  room,  where  sat  a  man  with 
his  feet  in  cold  water.  A  half  pint  of  whisky  was  on 
a  table  near  him.  As  they  drew  near  he  made  the  com 
ment,  "Damn  near  lost  the  ground  creepers,  that's  what 
I  git  for  goin'  to  sleep  in  a  box  car."  His  feet  were  blue 
and  swollen,  and  every  now  and  then  his  face  would 
twitch,  as  though  little  pins  were  pricking  him.  Em- 
mett's  heart  was  touched,  and  likewise  the  heart  of  the 
convict, 

"Can  we  do  anything  for  you,  Bo?"  asked  Emmett. 

"No,  thanks,  Boes,  she's  hell  with  the  lid  off,  but  I'm 
a  sinner.  I  seen  'em  froze  up  in  the  Klondike — Gawd! 
that  was  fierce." 

"You've  been  in  Alaska,  too?"  asked  the  ex-convict. 

"Been  there!  I  damn  near  died  there — ,  that's  a  fine 
country  for  ice,  but  I  had  no  sled." 

"That  was  tough  luck,"  said  the  ex-convict.  "I  ran  a 
faro  game  up  there  myself." 

"The  hell  you  did.  I  hope  you  had  better  luck  'an  I  had. 
But  I'm  the  original  hard  luck  guy.  If  it  was  rainin' 
soup  I'd  be  out  with  a  fork." 


SNOW  BOUND  197 

The  man  with  the  frozen  feet  drank  at  the  ex-convict's 
expense,  and  then  shared  his  own  bottle  with  the  two 
floaters.  They  bade  him  "good  luck"  and  left  him  star 
ing  dejectedly  at  his  swollen  blue  feet. 

As  they  left  the  saloon  it  was  impossible  to  see  ten  feet 
ahead.  The  snow  still  fell  steadily  and  quietly,  like  little 
white  feathers  settling  upon  a  great  white  bed. 

They  entered  a  combination  saloon  and  restaurant,  and 
ordered  more  drinks.  When  they  left  each  vagabond  car 
ried  a  pint  of  liquor  in  each  coat  pocket.  Even  thus  pre 
pared,  when  the  Express  came  in  they  hesitated  to  ride  it, 
but  when  the  engine  started  eastward  they  were  aboard  the 
train. 

As  it  rolled  along  the  rails,  the  recent  guest  of  Colum 
bus  said,  "Go  easy  on  the  liquor,  pal ;  you'll  feel  worse  if 
you  drink  it  all,  and  it  dies  out  of  your  system." 

The  blanket  of  snow  became  heavier  and  heavier  as  the 
train  battled  through  it,  until  within  fifteen  miles  of  Dun 
kirk  the  engine  could  not  move  another  inch.  Sand  was 
applied  to  the  tracks  as  the  engine  made  desperate  efforts 
to  travel  onward,  but  all  effort  was  utterly  useless.  The 
immense  horse  had  been  tied  by  tiny  flakes  of  snow. 

Hurry  calls  were  sent  out  and  the  train  crew  gathered 
about  the  engine,  while  the  whistle  screamed  like  a  dying 
madman  being  teased  to  death  by  white  feathers, — and 
then — all  was  quiet. 

None  of  the  crew  seemed  to  feel  that  even  foolhardy 
youth  would  be  on  a  blind  baggage  on  such  a  night,  and 
the  rovers  were  not  molested. 


198  EMMETT  LAWLER 

After  many  hours  a  snow  shovel  fought  its  way  to  the 
engine.  The  track  was  cleared,  and  the  train  went  on  its 
way. 

The  whisky  was  gone,  and  the  dreaded  stupor  was  set 
tling  down  upon  them  when  Dunkirk  was  reached,  and 
the  convict  said,  "We'd  better  lay  over  here,  we  still  have 
the  price  of  a  bed."  And  then,  as  they  walked  to  the 
restaurant,  he  said,  "This  is  punishment  for  our  sins,  eh, 
pal?" 

"Christ !  we  never  committed  murder,"  replied  Emmett. 

"No,  but  we're  murdering  ourselves,"  said  the  rover. 

"Yes,  but  nobody  gives  a  damn  about  us,"  was  Em- 
mett's  answer,  as  they  entered  a  restaurant. 

Railroad  men  loitered  inside,  and  quick  conversation  ran 
about  the  room.  Men  were  instinctively  drawn  to  Em- 
mett's  companion.  It  may  have  been  the  look  in  his  eyes, 
or  the  quiet  smile  ready  to  break  about  his  lips.  At  all 
events,  as  he  told  of  the  episode  of  the  snow,  there  were 
more  invitations  for  the  two  rovers  to  eat  than  they  could 
accept. 

"Give  the  boys  a  bed  for  the  night  then,"  said  a  brake- 
man,  when  another  man  paid  for  the  meal.  The  kind 
treatment  had  placed  the  rovers  in  fine  spirits,  and  a  sally 
from  Emmett  brought  a  general  laugh  all  around,  and 
the  way  was  paved  for  interesting  conversation,  which 
Emmett  enjoyed.  The  man  at  the  counter  said  to  Em 
mett,  as  the  meal  was  placed  before  him,  "This  life  is  sure 
hell,  eh,  boy!" 

"Yes,"  replied  Emmett,  "but  old  men  tell  me  that  the 
first  hundred  years  are  the  worst." 


SNOW  BOUND  199 

"I  don't  know,"  said  the  ex-convict,  "some  people  kick 
on  the  last  hundred  years." 

All  was  going  merrily  when  a  giant  Irish  policeman 
strolled  into  the  room.  Men  were  attentively  listening  to 
a  tale  of  far  ports  and  strange  people  that  came  from  the 
ex-convict's  lips.  Many  preferred  to  listen  to  the  inter 
national  rover  talk  in  friendly  manner  rather  than  go 
home.  The  conversation  was  suddenly  stopped  when  the 
convict's  eyes  met  those  of  the  policeman — but  the  officer's 
gaze  was  one  of  kindly  interest,  as  he  looked  at  Emmett 
and  asked,  "Where  ye  goin',  lad  ?"  And  Emmett  lied  like 
a  politician. 

"I'm  going  to  New  York  to  my  mother,  she's  very  ill." 
He  at  once  began  to  fumble  in  his  pocket  for  a  letter. 
"Must  have  lost  the  letter,"  he  said.  The  policeman 
looked  at  him  keenly.  Long  experience  had  made  him 
dubious  about  sick  and  dying  relatives  in  far  cities.  There 
was  a  faint  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  asked,  "Where's  she 
live  in  New  York  ?" 

"Hundred  and  Twenty-fifth  Street,"  was  the  quick 
reply.  The  answer  was  sufficient. 

"Broke  ?"  asked  the  policeman. 

"Almost,"  answered  Emmett. 

The  big  officer  threw  a  half  dollar  on  the  counter,  and 
said,  "Let's  chip  in,  boys,  the  kid's  either  tellin'  the  truth, 
or  he's  a  damn  good  liar."  A  few  silver  dollars  were 
added  to  Emmett's  earthly  treasure. 


NEW  YORK 

WITH  no  further  adventure  save  that  which  makes  up  the 
usual  hard  routine  of  tramp  life,  Emmett  and  his  com 
panion  reached  New  York.  Emmett's  handsome  comrade 
went  with  him  to  a  saloon  on  Chatham  Square.  It  was 
near  the  parting  of  the  ways  for  the  two  rovers,  and  a 
feeling  of  loneliness  came  over  Emmett  which  even  rot- 
gut  whisky  could  not  banish.  The  boy  needed  all  his 
strength  now,  for  well  he  knew  that  New  York  was  the 
loneliest  city  in  the  world  for  the  lonely  stranger. 

"Well,  let's  have  it  over  with,  pal,  I  hate  to  leave  you 
alone,  you're  a  damn  white  boy.  We  have  to  lose  many 
a  good  bet  in  this  old  world,  for  that's  the  way  the  cards 
come.  So  long,  pal,"  he  said. 

"Wait  a  minute,  let's  have  one  more  shot  of  poison," 
said  Emmett. 

"Well,  just  one  more,"  replied  the  ex-convict. 

They  had  another  drink  together,  and  then  the  hand 
some  adventurer  walked  out  of  the  saloon,  and  out  of 
Emmett's  life.  Emmett  watched  him  for  a  moment,  and 
choked  back  a  sob  that  tried  hard  to  rise.  The  immensity 
of  New  York  combined  with  the  immeasurable  loneliness 
was  appalling.  The  tears  came,  but  the  boy  knew  that  a 
bar-room  was  no  place  for  tears.  The  bartender  looked  at 
him,  and  said, 

200 


NEW  YORK  201 

"Just  hit  the  Big  Town,  kid?" 

"Yep,"  replied  Emmett,  "just  this  morning." 

"She's  some  burg,  eh?" 

"Yep,  she's  some  hell  of  a  burg,  she's  enough  to  scare 
a  fellow,"  replied  Emmett. 

He  threw  his  last  half  dollar  on  the  bar,  and  ordered 
another  drink.  The  bartender  served  him  and  said, 

"I'll  set  'em  up,  kid,  this  shot's  on  me." 

"Well,  here's  bumps  on  your  head."  Emmett  swal 
lowed  the  drink  and  said,  "Thanks."  As  he  walked 
toward  the  door  the  bartender  called  after  him,  "Well, 
good-by,  Old  Scout,  don't  burn  up  Broadway  with  that 
half  buck." 

New  York  was  a  wanton  with  a  heart  of  ice.  There 
was  none  of  the  warm  impulsiveness  of  Chicago  in  evi 
dence.  Emmett  haunted  the  Bowery,  and  the  Cooper 
Union  Library  was  his  daily  port  of  call.  He  read 
there  hour  after  hour,  and  the  kind-hearted  librarians 
helped  him  to  find  books  worth  while. 

There  is  more  real  democracy  in  an  American  Public 
Library  than  in  any  other  institution  in  the  land.  There 
the  woman  of  refinement  waits  on  the  outcast.  What  man 
would  dare  to  discount  the  influence  these  women  had  on 
such  men  as  Henry  George  and  Jack  London!  When 
the  brilliant  London  tramped  across  the  nation  there  was 
a  woman  in  a  Missouri  town  who  talked  to  him  in  a 
library  for  three  hours.  When  Henry  George  was  writing 
his  epoch-making  book,  with  hunger  and  destitution  gnaw 
ing  at  his  warm  heart,  these  were  the  women  who  helped 
him.  Emmett  owes  them  a  debt  that  black  words  on 


202  EMMETT  LAWLER 

white  paper  will  never  repay.  Even  to-day,  perhaps,  a 
library  worker  in  some  far  corner  of  the  land  is  instilling 
courage  in  a  future  George  or  London.  And  in  ten  years 
from  now  perhaps  her  faith  will  be  justified. 

Emmett  begged  money  on  the  Bowery,  where  beggars 
were  thicker  than  citizens.  In  sheer  desperation  he  went 
to  a  Newsboys  Home  near  Forty-fourth  Street.  He  was 
given  a  week's  free  lodging,  and  orders  to  find  work  with 
in  that  time. 

Each  night  the  boys  gathered  in  the  dining  room  of  the 
Home  and  held  religious  worship  under  the  guidance  of 
the  Superintendent.  The  meetings  were  always  closed 
with  a  hymn  which  reminded  Emmett  of  the  bellowing  of 
a  sick  calf. 

"Oh,  where  is  my  wandering  boy  to-night, 
The  boy  of  my  tenderest  care, 
'My  heart  overflows  for  I  love  him  he  knows, 
Oh,  where  is  my  boy  to-night?" 

It  was  the  morning  after  the  fourth  meeting  when  Em 
mett  exercised  his  right  of  free  speech  as  a  future  Amer 
ican  citizen.  Not  knowing  that  the  Superintendent  was 
within  hearing  Emmett  yelled  to  another  boy,  "I'm  going 
out  and  get  that  wandering  boy,  and  bring  him  home,  for 
I'm  getting  awful  tired  of  hearing  people  ask  where  the 
devil  he  is  every  night." 

The  Superintendent  appeared  from  behind  the  door  at 
the  moment  and  said,  "Very  well,  Mr.  Lawler,  but  when 
you  find  him,  you  had  better  ask  him  to  pray  for  your 
soul.  And  it  strikes  me  that  this  Home  is  no  place  for  a 


NEW  YORK  203 

boy  who  ridicules  the  efforts  we  are  making  to  bring 
wandering  sheep  into  the  fold." 

Emmett  used  some  shocking  words  to  the  good  man, 
and  ended  by  inviting  him  to  take  a  walk  to  hell.  The 
good  man  did  not  accept  the  invitation  at  the  time.  This 
was  rude  of  Emmett,  but  it  was  also  a  rude  awakening  to 
be  thrown  again  upon  the  streets  of  New  York  City. 

That  night  the  lad  helped  to  form  the  bread  line,  that 
army  of  derelicts  who  used  to  gather  nightly  in  Herald 
Square,  and  obtain  warm  coffee  and  a  piece  of  bread  from 
a  traveling  wagon.  Sometimes  when  there  were  not  too 
many  men  in  line  a  second  helping  could  be  had,  but 
this  was  seldom.  Emmett  was  in  the  bread  line  so  often 
that  the  giver  of  bread  actually  used  to  exchange  gossip 
with  him. 

On  bitter  cold  nights  the  hot  coffee  would  quickly  turn 
cold  in  the  tin  cups.  One  night  the  wind  howled,  and  the 
snow  whirled  over  the  city  with  such  fury  that  few  men 
were  in  line. 

"It  ain't  fit  for  a  dog  to  be  out  to-night,"  said  the  Giver 
Of  Bread. 

"Not  a  dog  that  anybody  cares  for,"  replied  Emmett. 

"No — nor  any  other  dog,"  said  the  Giver  of  Bread. 

"I  believe  you're  a  good-hearted  fellow,"  said  Emmett. 

"If  I  wasn't,"  said  the  Giver  of  Bread,  "I  wouldn't 
freeze  my  eyebrows  off  on  this  bread  wagon  every  night." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Emmett. 

"Nope,  you  guys  don't  think,  that's  why  you're  in  the 
bread  line." 

"Well,  maybe  you're  right;  some  day  I'll  think  and 


204         .  EMMETT  LAWLER 

make  a  million,  and  wear  a  dress  suit  and  look  like  a  head 
waiter.  Then  I'll  give  you  stale  bread  to  feed  the  bums, 
and  get  all  stewed  up  at  Rector's  myself." 

"Ain't  stale  bread  good  ?"  asked  the  Giver  of  Bread. 

"Yes,  it  beats  nothing  all  to  the  devil,  but  when  I  get 
all  smarted  up  I  believe  I'd  like  hot  biscuits  and  honey 
better." 

"That's  it,"  said  the  Giver  of  Bread,  "give  a  bum  a 
horse  and  he'd  want  a  saddle." 

"Saddle,  hell !"  said  Emmett,  "I'd  want  a  carriage." 

He  went  his  way  that  night  after  having  all  the  sand 
wiches  and  coffee  he  wanted.  The  wind  that  had  blown 
many  people  ill  that  night  had  been  a  thing  of  good  fortune 
for  Emmett. 

He  spent  the  next  day  in  the  Cooper  Union  Library, 
where  he  became  interested  in  reading  about  Oliver  Gold 
smith.  He  wondered  if  there  could  be  a  man  in  New 
York  with  a  heart  as  warm  as  the  one  which  beat  in  the 
breast  of  the  roving  Irish  poet.  He  dreamed  of  walking 
the  roads  of  Europe  with  Goldsmith,  and  stopping  at 
doors  and  begging  food  with  him.  It  was  a  pleasant 
pastime — but  he  soon  returned  to  New  York  and  won 
dered  where  he  would  sleep  that  night,  as  he  had  slept  no 
place  the  night  before. 

Then  he  wondered  if  all  the  Library  women  had  happy 
homes,  and  where  they  all  lived,  and  evening  came  as  he 
walked  into  the  street  and  into  the  arms  of  stern  reality 
again. 


EMMETT  TESTIFIES 

HE  attended  services  that  night  at  the  Salvation  Army 
Headquarters  on  the  Bowery.  Another  rover  had  told 
him  that  if  he  attended  regularly  he  might  be  able  to  get 
an  overcoat  and  a  suit  from  some  kind  person.  The 
floater  added  that  it  is  considered  good  policy  to  testify  to 
the  effect  that  one  had  found  religion  under  the  roof  of  the 
local  mission. 

He  walked  along  the  Bowery  while  thoughts  of  Ohio 
flooded  his  mind.  A  pleasant  thrill  passed  through  his 
thinly  clad  body  when  he  thought  that  a  letter  might  be 
at  the  post  office  from  Effie.  A  fat  woman  stood  on  the 
curbing  and  scratched  her  shoulder  in  lively  fashion. 

"Lord,"  said  the  lad  to  himself,  "she's  a  woman,  just 
like  Effie."  Her  skirt  hung  in  an  uneven  manner  over 
shoes  through  which  her  toes  bulged.  Effie  stood  before 
him,  wearing  a  gingham  apron,  and  smiled,  her  white 
teeth  resembling  a  row  of  pearls  in  the  moonlight.  He 
felt  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  while  she  said,  "Don't 
cry,  Emmett,  he  was  a  good  man,"  the  night  the  Faith 
Healer  went  away  from  his  Ohio  heaven.  "I'd  crawl 
through  hell  in  a  paper  suit  to  win  Effie,  but  she  shouldn't 
worry  about  me  now — she'll  go  to  college,  and  own  a  slice 
of  Van  Wert  County  some  day,  while  I'm  a  roughneck  in 
the  breadline.  It  will  be  just  her  luck  to  marry  some 

205 


206  EMMETT  LAWLER 

clodhopper  who'll  never  have  brains  enough  to  appreciate 
her,"  Emmett  thought.  "A  clodhopper  owning  Effie,"  he 
thought,  "would  be  like  a  bull  having  a  pearl  and  diamond 
inlaid  ring  in  its  nose."  He  was  thinking  along  in  this 
fashion  until  he  met  the  youth  who  had  advised  him  to  go 
to  the  Salvation  Mission.  The  youth  had  fifty  cents  and  a 
brain  tipsy  with  liquor. 

"Well,  Old  Floater,"  said  the  youth,  "could  you  stand 
a  shot  in  the  leg?"  He  leaned  heavily  on  Emmett  as  he 
continued,  "I  got  fifty  cents  that  ain't  never  been  spent." 

"You're  a  life  saver,"  replied  Emmett.  "I'm  so  thirsty 
I'd  kiss  a  bartender  for  a  drink." 

"We'll  go  in  here  to  Billy  the  Bums,  and  get  some 
drinks,  an'  you  can  beat  it  for  the  Army  and  testify,  and 
lay  it  on  good  an'  heavy,  too.  Tell  'em  you're  the  pope's 
son  over  here  slummin'.  I'll  sit  back  an'  listen,  cause  I'm 
already  saved." 

They  had  five  drinks  of  whisky  each  which  cost  five 
cents  a  drink — and  they  were  not  worth  it — "For  God's 
sake  that's  gunpowder  and  hot  water,"  said  Emmett  to 
Billy  the  Bum. 

"Well,  listen,"  said  Billy  the  Bum,  "go  right  around  the 
corner  on  Hester  Street,  and  you  kin  buy  a  distillery  for 
a  penny !" 

As  they  started  to  leave  Billy  said,  "Hey,  Red!  speak 
that  piece  you  spoke  the  other  day  and  I'll  buy  a  coupla 
drinks  myself." 

"That's  a  go,"  said  Emmett,  and  he  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  sawdust  floor,  while  derelicts  gathered  all  about 
him,  and  recited  "The  Face  on  the  Bar-Room  Floor." 


EMMETT  TESTIFIES  207 

The  lines  had  a  vivid  effect  on  the  drink-soaked  brains, 
and  as  Emmett  said, 

"I  was  an  artist,  sir,  not  one  of  them  that  daubed  wood 
But  an  artist  who  in  my  day  was  rated  pretty  good," 

the  men  formed  in  a  ring  about  him.    Then  he  continued, 

"And  I'll  draw  for  you  the  picture  of  the  woman  that  drove  me 
mad." 

He  went  through  the  motions  of  drawing  a  picture  on 
the  sawdust  floor.  Billy  the  Bum  was  completely  carried 
away,  as  Emmett  and  the  five-cent  whisky  drew  the  pic 
ture.  Have  mercy  on  Emmett, — that  whisky  would  have 
made  an  auctioneer  think  he  was  a  Robert  Ingersoll. 

When  Emmett  had  finished  there  was  a  lively  demon 
stration.  Stray  dimes  rolled  on  the  bar — from  stray  cor 
ners  in  derelicts'  pockets.  Emotion  ruled  here,  to  hell 
with  logic.  What  had  walking  the  streets  at  night  to  do 
with  verse  that  took  a  fellow  away  from  himself?  Said 
Billy  the  Bum,  "Say,  Red,  you're  a  darn  smart  little 
tramp,  how  kin  you  remember  all  that  stuff?"  and  Emmett 
felt  as  proud  as  a  floorwalker  at  a  Hodcarriers'  Picnic. 

"I  know  another  one,"  said  he,  "a  peacherino.  I  wrote 
it  myself." 

"Let's  hear  it,"  said  Billy  the  Bum,  "take  a  coupla  shots 
first." 

Then  Emmett  recited  "A  Woman's  Virtue"  with  deadly 
effect,  and  with  magnificent  eloquence — like  the  red 
headed  Shakespeare  tearing  off  a  sonnet  between  drinks 
in  a  tavern,  while  Ben  Jonson  listened. 


208  EMMETT  LAWLER 

All  eyes  in  the  brilliant  audience  grew  damp,  and  tears 
fell  like  rain  upon  the  sawdust  floor.  Billy  the  Bum 
used  the  bar-rag  to  wipe  away  the  hot  tears  that  surged 
from  his  manly  heart. 

Emmett's  audience  proclaimed  his  effort  a  masterpiece, 
but  one  old  derelict,  who  had  once  been  a  newspaper  re 
porter,  told  him  that  it  was  so  much  junk,  but  mum  was 
the  word  as  far  as  he  was  concerned.  The  old  fellow  did 
tell  the  boy  to  keep  on  trying,  and  he  might  write  some 
thing  some  day.  Emmett's  opening  lines  were  emotional 
bombs  that  exploded  under  every  heart  but  that  of  the 
old  reporter : 

"As  I  lie  here  thinking  sadly  of  the  days  that's  gone  and  past, 
My  thoughts  go  back  to  a  woman,  for  my  thoughts  are  going 

fast, 

With  a  form  like  Milo  Venus,  most  beautiful  to  see — , 
And  I  can  say  it  truly — an  angel  the  side  o'  me." 

Thus  the  stage  was  set  for  the  heart-rending  climax : 

"But  alas  one  day  while  drinking,  with  passion  in  my  brain — , 
I  stole  a  kiss  one  morning — and  then  a  life  of  pain — ," 

Emmett  did  not  say  whether  the  girl  had  the  life  of  pain, 
or  he — but  the  kind  audience  supposed  it  was  the  girl. 
The  old  reporter  said,  "Say,  Boy,  that  must  of  been  a  hell 
of  a  kiss." 

"Gosh  Almighty!"  said  another  old  mendicant,  "how 
kin  you  think  up  things  like  that?" 

"Oh,  they  just  come  to  me,"  replied  Emmett. 

Billy  the  Bum  said,  "Say,  Kid,  that's  sure  heart-ren- 


EMMETT  TESTIFIES  209 

dering ;  I  wish  I  could  write  them  things,  I'd  send  'em  to 
the  magazines.  The  Police  Gazette'd  be  tickled  to  publish 
a  piece  like  that." 

"Well,  come  on,"  said  the  other  youth,  "we  don't  want 
to  be  late  for  the  service." 

Men  sat  on  rude  benches  while  the  Conductor  of  the 
Meeting  talked  from  a  poorly  constructed  pulpit.  The 
odor  of  stale  tobacco  and  unwashed  bodies  reeking  with 
five-cent  whisky  filled  the  room.  Emmett  and  his  com 
panion  walked  up  near  the  pulpit. 

The  Conductor  stopped  talking,  and  the  singing  began. 
Emmett's  brain  was  in  a  jar  of  alcohol,  but  drunk  or 
sober,  he  was  always  more  or  less  impressed  with  any 
kind  of  singing,  from  the  maudlin  to  the  sublime,  and  he 
sat  very  still,  while  the  wayfarers  of  life  sang, 

"Bringing  in  the  sheaves,  Lord,  bringing  in  the  sheaves, 
We  shall  come  rejoicing,  bringing  in  the  sheaves." 

Emmett  burst  forth  in  song,  but  his  comrade  punched 
him  in  the  side  and  said,  "Lord  Sakes,  shut  up,  you  can't 
carry  a  tune  in  a  bucket." 

"The  hell  I  can't,"  replied  Emmett. 

The  Conductor  ended  the  song  abruptly,  and  then  said, 
"We  will  now  sing  the  'Ninety  and  Nine/  and  will  those 
who  can't  sing  please  refrain  from  trying." 

They  sang  about  the  one  sheep  that  wandered  from  the 
fold,  "and  one  was  out  on  the  hills  away."  Emmett  felt 
certain  that  he  was  that  wandering  sheep,  but  he  dared  not 
sing  about  it.  And  then  began  the  giving  of  testimony. 


210  EMMETT  LAWLER 

At  a  nudge  from  his  friend,  Emmett  arose,  and  with 
memories  of  Solomon  Soaroff,  he  gave  testimony  con 
cerning  the  goodness  of  God  that  made  the  wastrels  for 
get  cold  weather  and  filthy  clothes,  and  carried  them  away 
to  a  Harold  Bell  Wright  world  where  angels  bumped  their 
heads  on  silver  stairways,  and  saints  walked  the  golden 
streets  with  harlots  who  were  virgins  once  again,  having 
been  washed  in  the  blood  of  the  lamb. 

There  was  never  such  hypocritical  eloquence  under  the 
dome  of  heaven.  Emmett  cast  off  sin  as  if  it  were  an 
unclean  thing,  and  unworthy  the  notice  of  an  honest  tramp 
to  whom  a  just  God  had  been  more  than  kind. 

From  now  on  he  intended  to  walk  in  the  footsteps  of 
Moses.  He  had  but  little  idea  why  he  talked  of  Moses, 
but  then  he  thought  the  audience  must  have  all  heard  of 
him.  He  flew  back  on  the  wings  of  memory  to  the  Revela 
tion  of  St.  John,  and  he,  too,  predicted  the  end  of  the 
world  for  the  unrighteous.  The  good  were  to  live  on— • 
and  all  one  had  to  do  was  to  be  pious,  and  bread  lines 
would  vanish,  and  cold  nights  would  become  warm,  and 
every  heartache  would  be  soothed  by  dark-haired  girls 
with  dreamy  eyes,  and  skin  as  white  as  milk. 

When  the  testimony  was  completed,  Emmett  sat  down 
like  a  man  who  had  defied  a  nation  with  a  sentence.  The 
Conductor  came  from  the  platform  and  grasped  his  hand, 
and  greeted  his  new-found  brother  in  Christ. 

Judas  must  have  felt  like  a  happy  girl  on  her  wedding 
day  in  comparison  with  Emmett  at  this  moment,  for  the 
Conductor's  sincerity  was  beyond  question  the  greatest 
thing  in  his  life. 


EMMETT  TESTIFIES  211; 

It  would  not  do  to  expose  a  new-found  brother  to  the 
temptations  of  a  winter  night,  even  though  it  was  too  cold 
to  commit  sin.  A  bed  was  fixed  for  Emmett,  and  the 
sheep  that  had  wandered  over  bare  hills  had  found  a  green 
pasture  at  last. 


THE  CONDUCTOR 

THE  Conductor  was  a  strange  blending  of  water  and 
milk,  and  a  streak  of  stronger  stuff.  The  Maker  whom 
he  worshiped  had  played  him  a  cruel  trick,  but  like  a  de 
voted  woman  who  is  ever  faithful,  he  was  true  to  him. 
And  to  his  credit — being  true  to  him,  he  managed  to  serve 
humanity,  or  that  submerged  portion  of  it  who  live  in 
neither  the  valleys  nor  the  mountains,  but  in  the  gutters 
where  the  reeking  stenches  roll. 

It  might  be  said  that  he  had  no  chin  at  all,  as  it  merged 
into  his  throat.  His  teeth  were  large,  and  set  apart,  pro 
truding  over  his  lower  lip.  The  merged  chin  and  throat 
seemed  to  give  greater  strength  to  the  vocal  chords,  for 
his  voice  was  powerful,  and  could  be  heard  even  above 
the  roar  of  the  elevated  trains.  A  strand  of  hair  stretched 
across  the  bald  top  of  his  head,  like  a  dark  river  rolling 
through  a  white  field. 

He  had  found  his  Maker  in  the  hills  of  West  Virginia, 
during  the  one  time  in  his  fifty  years  that  he  had  ever  been 
out  of  New  York  City.  He  had  been  a  foundling,  that 
had  never  known  girl  love  nor  woman  love  in  his  half 
century  along  a  dreary  road.  Literature  and  art  had 
never  opened  their  doors  to  him,  nor  had  human  nature 
and  the  weird  wonder  of  life  taught  him  either  the  great 
ness  or  the  nothingness  of  it. 

212 


THE  CONDUCTOR  213 

He  had  never  felt  the  caress  of  a  woman,  nor  the  slight 
est  touch  of  red  lips  upon  his  weak  mouth.  Those  com 
plex  creatures  who  love  and  hate  in  the  slums  of  the  cities 
had  never  tempted  the  man  at  all.  But  the  love  of  some 
thing  human  had  to  be  in  his  life,  so  he  devoted  it  to  the 
attempted  saving  of  his  blear-eyed  kind.  A  hard  task 
indeed. 

Long  after  Emmett  was  sound  asleep,  the  Conductor 
sat  in  the  now  deserted  hall  of  the  Mission.  The  fire 
in  the  boy's  testimony  had  scorched  his  soul,  and  his 
voice  still  echoed  over  the  room,  and  as  the  arch  hypocrite 
slept,  the  words  which  he  had  thrown  lightly  upon  the 
stale  air  had  formed  themselves  into  silver  sentences,  and 
marched  in  paragraphs  before  the  Conductor's  gaze. 

The  crowd  had  deserted  the  Bowery,  and  it  was  now 
almost  as  quiet  as  a  lonesome  street  in  a  small  town. 
Peace  came  down  with  dirty  cloak,  and  covered  the  fol 
lower  of  the  auburn-haired  agitator  with  a  calm  that 
passeth  understanding.  He  had  never  touched  the  gar 
ment  hem  of  imagination,  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  he 
wondered  about  a  human  being. 

From  what  misty  place  had  the  red-headed  boy  drifted? 
He  surely  must  have  a  mother,  and  he  had  read  the  Bible. 
He  was  not  a  boy  from  New  York,  that  much  he  knew, 
for  his  speech  was  clear,  and  had  no  touch  of  slang.  How 
fine  It  would  be  to  train  the  boy  to  exhort  other  wayfarers 
into  the  light!  He  might  even  assist  him  to  become  a 
minister,  for  he  had  youth,  and  could  talk  with  fluent 
sincerity.  At  this  new-found  possibility  the  Conductor 
glowed  with  satisfaction. 


2i4  EMMETT  LAWLER 

He  arose  and  went  to  the  dormitory,  where  slept  his 
weary  charges.  Emmett  was  sound  asleep.  His  red 
curls  were  buried  in  the  white  pillow,  and  in  the  weak 
light  on  the  dormitory  wall,  they  resembled  the  curls  of 
his  dead  and  gone  mother. 

The  Conductor  looked  down  at  the  sleeping  boy,  and 
placed  his  hand  upon  his  forehead.  "My  new-found 
brother  in  Christ,"  he  said,  and  slowly  walked  to  his  own 
bed. 


HYPOCRISY  VANQUISHED 

FOR  many  mornings  thereafter  Emmett  received  fifty 
cents  from  the  Conductor.  Ever  in  rebellion  against 
everything,  the  cloak  of  hypocrisy  weighed  heavily  upon 
him.  At  last,  one  morning,  he  went  to  his  friend  and 
told  him  of  his  decision  to  go  away.  The  good  man 
pleaded,  but  Emmett  had  his  way,  and  after  hearing  from 
his  friend  that  the  doors  were  always  open  for  his  return 
the  lad  faced  the  streets  again. 

He  was  but  dimly  aware  of  the  fact  then  that  Marx  was 
right  when  he  said  that  the  economic  factor  came  into 
everything.  It  had  even  made  him  a  hypocrite. 

He  fell  in  line  at  Herald  Square  at  nine  that  evening. 
The  weather  was  at  the  zero  point — a  cold,  punishing 
night.  The  Giver  of  Bread  greeted  him  with,  "Hello, 
Kid,  where  you. been?" 

"Oh,  I  took  a  little  run  up  the  Hudson  to  my  country 
home." 

"Freights  run  by  there?" 

"Nope,  I  went  in  my  carriage." 

In  the  bread  line  stood'  a  young  fellow  in  a  soldier  uni 
form,  with  whom  he  engaged  in  conversation.  Before 
their  coffee  became  cold  in  the  tin  cups  they  hit  upon  the 
mutual  scheme  of  going  to  the  Municipal  Lodging  House 
for  the  night. 

215 


216  EMMETT  LAWLER 

They  found  the  place  on  Twenty-third  Street,  as  un 
inviting  a  hole  as  ever  a  stray  dog  hunted.  They  were 
greeted  by  a  heavy  jowled  man  who  looked  like  an  ex- 
policeman,  grown  too  fat  and  old  for  work.  He  had 
the  coarse  expression  of  a  man  long  used  to  the  sensual 
things  of  life. 

He  half  grunted,  "Ho,  ho !  what  freight's  in  now  ?"  as 
the  boys  drew  near.  The  uniform  on  the  Hungry  De 
fender  of  the  Nation  was  not  even  noticed  by  him.  He 
grudgingly  led  the  arrivals  to  a  dining  room.  This  room 
was  as  bare  as  a  pine  board.  Rude  tables,  stained  with 
chicory,  stretched  across  it. 

Pine  benches,  built  in  the  form  of  lesser  tables,  were 
near  them.  Another  fat  face  looked  through  a  hole  in 
the  wall,  through  which  a  fat  hand  later  shoved  two  bowls 
of  chicory  and  two  hunks  of  bread.  The  first  heavy  in 
dividual  sat  down  in  a  chair  and  grunted  a  snatch  of  a 
song  until  the  youths  had  finished  the  dainty  luncheon. 
He  seemed  bored  with  the  endless  routine  of  waiting  on 
beggars.  When  the  lads  had  finished  the  man  waddled 
to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  and  called  to  some  one  below, 

"Hey !  come  on  up  and  git  these  bums." 

Up  the  stairs  came  a  weak  individual  whose  every  move 
ment  apologized  for  the  gift  of  life.  As  the  pitiful 
specimen  of  decadent  manhood  approached,  the  ex-soldier 
mumbled,  "Holy  Christ !"  under  his  breath. 

Strong  youth  followed  weak  manhood  down  the  stairs. 
The  withered  man  took  the  youths  to  a  room  below  and 
bade  them  remove  all  their  clothing,  and  also  to  remove 
any  letters  or  papers  from  their  pockets. 


HYPOCRISY  VANQUISHED  217 

"Bum  come  in  'ere  with  a  dollar  bill  one  time,  and  the 
fumigation  'hate  hit  up  in  'is  pocket.  Served  'im  bloody 
well  right."  The  Apology  for  the  gift  of  life  was  a  cock 
ney  trying  to  speak  the  English  language. 

He  gathered  their  clothing  in  a  heap  under  his  arm 
and  led  them  into  another  room.  In  this  room  sat  an  old 
man  near  a  tub  of  soft  soap  that  resembled  lard.  His 
face  was  exactly  like  the  faces  Emmett  had  seen  of 
witches  riding  broom  sticks  in  fairy  tales.  Emmett's 
strong,  naked  body  recoiled  from  him  as  from  a  thing 
unclean. 

A  leer  was  indelibly  stamped  upon  his  face  as  he  sat  on 
a  low  stool  and  held  a  wooden  paddle  in  his  hand. 

"Here,  here,"  he  snarled,  as  he  dipped  the  paddle  in  the 
tub  and  brought  forth  soap  upon  the  end  of  it.  Emmett 
scraped  it  from  the  paddle  and  walked  under  the  shower. 
His  companion  followed  him. 

Through  the  falling  water  the  old  wretch-  could  be  seen 
reseating  himself  upori  the  stool  in  the  manner  of  a  lately 
disturbed  hyena  looking  for  a  place  to  lie  down.  As  he 
stocfd  up  Emmett  noticed  that  he  was  bent  almost  double, 
and  now  he  sat  in  that  position  and  gazed  at  his  tub  of 
soap.  There  was  a  sickening  odor  about  the  place,  and 
Emmett,  ever  with  the  delicate  nostrils  of  a  bloodhound, 
became  dreadfully  sick.  Life's  Apology  led  them  to  the 
dormitory,  while  Emmett  leaned  upon  the  friendly  arm 
of  the  young  soldier,  as  they  walked  up  the  two  flights 
of  stairs. 

Beds,  called  "doubledeckers,"  were  in  this  room,  one 
bed  on  top  of  another.  Emmett  slept  in  the  bed  above, 


218  EMMETT  LAWLER 

and  the  soldier  from  the  American  Army  slept  below. 

At  six  in  the  morning  they  returned  to  the  cellar  and 
donned  their  wrinkled  clothes.  After  another  bowl  of 
chicory  and  a  hunk  of  bread  they  inhaled  the  clean  air  of 
the  street  again.  It  was  said  that  if  a  vagrant  went  three 
nights  in  succession  to  the  Municipal  Lodging  House  he 
would  be  sent  to  Blackwell's  Island  to  serve  a  term  for 
being  poor. 

"Any  saphead  who'd  go  there  a  second  time  deserves 
a  year  in  Sing  Sing,"  was  the  soldier's  comment. 

"A  year  would  be  too  short,"  said  Emmett,  as  they 
stopped  to  survey  themselves.  The  soldier's  uniform  had 
as  many  wrinkles  in  it.  as  there  are  waves  in  the  ocean. 
Emmett  laughed  at  the  appearance  he  made  until  the 
tears  came  to  his  eyes. 

"To  hell  with  the  wrinkles,"  said  the  soldier,  "the 
wind'll  blow  them  out." 

"Your  suit'll  be  carpet  rags  before  the  wind  blows 
those  wrinkles  out." 

"There  you  go,"  said  the  soldier,  "hanging  crepe.  Was 
your  dad  a  grave  digger?  Let's  hunt  breakfast." 

"That's  a  peach  of  an  idea,"  said  Emmett,  "and  I  know 
where  to  go  for  it." 

There  was  a  man  on  Twenty th  Street  who  devoted 

his  life  to  giving  the  hungry  youths  of  the  city  a  small 
silver  piece  each  morning  of  the  year.  Emmett  had  heard 
of  him,  and  went  directly  to  his  house.  At  least  thirty 
boys  were  waiting  in  front  of  the  red  brick  home.  He 
did  not  meet  the  boys  personally,  but  they  were  obliged 
to  tell  their  tale  of  woe  through  a  small  elevator  shaft. 


HYPOCRISY  VANQUISHED  219 

The  man,  after  hearing  Emmett's  story  and  his  name,  said, 
"All  right,  Emmett,  wait  a  minute,"  and  soon  twenty-five 
cents  came  down  in  a  paper  envelope,  upon  which  was 
written  his  name.  In  this  way  the  man  started  the  day 
right  for  many  a  hungry  lad, 

Emmett  has  always  remembered  him,  and  there  must 
be  thousands  of  other  boys  who  remember  him  also. 
There  should  be  a  future  life,  for  a  kind  heart  should 
never  stop  beating. 

"I  just  thought  of  a  new  wrinkle,"  said  the  soldier, 
after  they  had  eaten  in  a  Greek  restaurant. 

"You  don't  need  any  new  wrinkles,"  said  Emmett. 

"No,  but  this  one  will  help  us  out.  We  can  go  over  to 
Jersey  City,  and  wait  for  the  people  to  get  off  the  trains 
and  run  for  the  ferry.  They  always  buy  papers,  and  get 
pennies  back  in  change.  We  can  bum  the  spare  pennies 
from  them,  and  tell  'em  we  lack  just  two  to  take  us  to 
New  York.  They'll  be  in  a  hurry  and  will  slip  us  the 
brass  things  with  George's  mug  on  'em.  I  know  a  guy 
i  who  got  eighty  cents  that  way  once.  It  only  took  him 
a  half  a  day." 

"For  God's  sake,"  said  Emmett,  "he'd  a  better  got  a 
job." 

They  followed  the  plan  until  they  had  more  than  sixty 
cents  each.  Then  the  ungrateful  vagrants  cheated  the 
ferry  owners  out  of  six  cents  by  stealing  a  ride  back 
to  New  York. 

When  they  reached  the  city  again  Emmett  suddenly 
thought  of  the  letters  that  might  be  waiting  for  him  at  the 
post  office.  With  a  sense  of  shame  it  came  to  him  that 


220  EMMETT  LAWLER 

perhaps  the  letters  had  been  returned.  He  hurried  at  once 
to  the  General  Delivery  window  and  asked  the  clerk  if 
there  was  any  mail  for  Emmett  Alexander  Lawler.  With 
rapidly  beating  heart  he  waited  while  the  clerk  ran  the 
many  letters  through  his  hand  as  a  gambler  looks  at 
cards.  He  separated  one  from  the  pile — and  then  another 
• — and  threw  the  paper  missives  of  happiness  toward  the 
penny  beggar.  Emmett  walked  away  from  the  window 
with  joy  pounding  at  his  heart. 

The  soldier  looked  interested,  "Gee,  swell  envelopes, 
you  must  know  rich  people." 

"I  should  say  so,"  replied  Emmett.  "I  know  a  barrel 
of  rich  people." 

"Well,  so  long,  Kid.  I  gotta  beat  it.  Hope  you  always 
get  butter  on  your  bread." 

"Thanks,  old  boy,  butter  and  jelly  on  yours,  I  hope." 

The  man  with  the  wrinkled  clothing  walked  out  of  the 
house  of  the  Nation  for  which  he  had  been  willing  to  die. 
The  soldier's  neck  bulged  above  the  wrinkled  coat  that 
held  his  muscular  shoulders.  Emmett  thought  for  a  mo 
ment  of  the  lad  from  Columbus,  and  then  he  read  the 
name  of  Emmett  Alexander  Lawler  on  a  gray  envelope 
that  a  thousand-mile  journey  had  not  robbed  of  its  per 
fume.  The  name  "Effie  Ramsay"  was  in  one  corner. 

He  opened  Effie's  letter  at  once,  and  it  started  "Dear 
Boy" : — It  gave  him  all  the  news  of  his  beloved  country. 
The  people  of  the  county  had  placed  a  monument  over  the 
Faith  Healer's  grave,  and  thousands  of  little  children  had 
strewn  daisies  all  about  it.  Reverend  Wirls,  now  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Legislature,  had  made  a  speech  again  at  the 


HYPOCRISY  VANQUISHED  221 

grave.  Every  one  had  asked  about  Emmett.  She  had 
graduated  at  the  Van  Wert  High  School,  and  had  gone  to 
Oberlin  for  a  summer  term.  When  would  he  ever  return 
to  Ohio?  My!  New  York  must  be  a  wonderful  place — 
and  she  felt  sure  that  Emmett  would  make  a  name  there. 
She  wanted  him  to  come  to  Van  Wert  County  soon.  She 
called  her  bulldog  Emmett,  Jr.,  and  her  riding  horse 
Emmett,  Sr. !  "Fine  combination,"  Emmett  thought. 

She  asked  him  to  remember  that  the  latch-string  was 
always  outside  on  the  Ramsay  door  for  Emmett  Lawler. 
Ivy  was  no  more.  Solomon  Soaroff  had  cried  at  her 
funeral.  A  week  before  her  death  she  had  asked  Effie 
where  Emmett  was.  Her  daddy  was  going  to  run  for 
Congress.  Her  mother  had  bought  her  oodles  of  new 
clothes — some  new  aprons,  too — or  the  material  for 
them.  And  the  letter  went  on  and  on  in  dainty  feminine 
hand.  "How  could  any  one  write  so  small,"  thought  Em 
mett.  "Why,  she  must  have  written  with  a  pin." 

New  York  was  a  happy  town  for  Emmett,  and  the 
sixty  cents  jingled  in  his  pocket  like  the  wealth  of  Midas. 

A  beggar  disturbed  his  happiness,  "Say,  Mister,  could 
you  slip-  me  a  nickel  for  some  Java  and  rolls?" 

"Sure,"  said  Emmett,  "I'll  go  ninety-ten  with  you — 
here's  a  dime.  But  where  the  devil  do  you  get  that  Mister 
stuff?"  Emmett  then  told  him  about  the  method  of  get 
ting  penhies  at  Jersey  City. 

"Oh,  it's  a  hell  uv  a  ways  over  there,"  said  the  beggar. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned,"  said  the  offended  Emmett. 
"Some  of  you  guys  won't  work  when  you  get  a  chance." 
But  his  competitor  was  out  of  hearing. 


222  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Vivian  wrote  a  letter  that  was  hard  to  read,  but  inter 
woven  with  the  scrawl  was  the  sincerity  of  her  heart. 
Vivian  scrawled  like  a  hen  gone  mad  with  a  fountain  pen. 
She  told  him  that  Lake  Michigan  was  as  blue  as  ever. 
"Vivian  was  surely  crazy  about  that  lake,"  thought  Em- 
mett — and  then — "New  York  may  be  fine — but  how  can 
you  ever  stay  away  from  Chi-town — if  you  want  to  come 
back  I'll  try  and  get  you  part  of  the  fare." 

"Taking  her  dough  would  be  a  dirty  Irish  trick,"  thought 
Emmett.  "Well,  it  might  not  be  so  bad,"  he  thought,  "but 
part  of  the  fare  would  only  get  me  part  of  the  way — I 
better  beat  it  when  I  go.  Viv's  a  good  apple,  though." 

Emmett  placed  the  letters  in  his  pocket  and  walked 
straight  to  the  Mission.  Men  loitered  in  City  Hall  Park  in 
the  same  old  way,  but  somehow  they  looked  different  to 
the  boy  to  whom  two  women  had  written. 

When  Emmett  reached  the  Mission  the  Conductor 
greeted  him  as  the  father  of  old  may  not  have  greeted  his 
prodigal  son.  He  placed  his  arm  about  the  boy  and 
chatted  with  him  in  the  most  friendly  manner.  Emmett 
felt  a  tinge  of  love  for  him  at  this  moment  that  all  the 
years  between  have  never  completely  driven  from  his 
heart. 

"Let  me  read  you  a  nice  letter,"  said  he  to  the  brave 
shepherd  of  dirty  Bowery  sheep.  "It's  from  a  girl  in 
Ohio."  He  read  Effie's  letter  aloud  to  the  Conductor. 

"What  a  splendid  girl  she  must  be,"  said  the  man  as  the 
letter  was  finished. 

"I'll  say  she  is,"  said  the  boy ;  "you  ought  to  see  her — 
she  looks  nicer  in  a  gingham  apron  than  most  girls  do  in 


HYPOCRISY  VANQUISHED  223 

a  hundred-dollar  dress.  But  her  dad  dresses  her  fine, 
too.  She  goes  to  Lima  for  her  clothes,  with  her  mother." 

"Is  Lima  a  large  place?"  asked  the  New  Yorker. 

"Well,"  replied  the  boy,  "it's  not  quite  as  large  as  New 
York.  For  all  Ohio  ain't  got  any  more  people  than  this 
burg  has." 

"Just  think  of  that,"  said  the  New  Yorker,  in  a  tone  of 
pity  for  Ohio. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  Buckeye,  "there's  a  lot  of 
people  here  you  shouldn't  count.  Besides,  Oh,  Hell! 
none  of  these  people  are  satisfied." 

"Emmett,  dear  boy,  are  you  swearing  again  ?" 

"No — that  was  a  slip,"  replied  the  arch-hypocrite. 

"I  have  good  news  for  you,"  said  the  Conductor.  "I 
have  a  call  to-day  to  go  and  bring  five  suits  of  clothes 
to  the  Mission.  It  came  from  out  Central  Park  way. 
You  can  go  along  with  me  to-morrow,  and  you  can  have 
the  suit  that  comes  nearest  to  fitting  you." 

"Thanks  ever  so  much,"  was  the  grateful  reply,  "I 
certainly  need  a  suit,  I  look  like  a  scarecrow,  this  thing  is 
faded  all  to  hell." 

"Be  careful,  Emmett,  you  are  entirely  too  fluent,"  was 
the  mild  reproof. 


HYPOCRISY  REWARDED 

AT  nine  the  next  morning  two  pilgrims  walked  along 
Fifth  Avenue  in  the  bright  winter  sunshine.  The  Con 
ductor  often  walked  to  far  parts  of  the  city,  and  he  would 
hum  religious  songs  as  he  walked. 

Thwarted  and  repressed,  a  Dead  Sea,  to  which  no  in 
tellectual  river  flowed — ,  a  Walker  in  the  Desert  ever 
facing  the  Great  Mirage,  the  Conductor  still  lived  in  a 
Kingdom  not  of  this  earth. 

Men  live  by  thrills,  wrote  the  brilliant  William  James, 
and  the  Conductor's  thrill  in  life  was  the  shouting  of 
songs  from  the  Bowery  curbing,  and  sheltering  stray  sheep 
for  the  night. 

As  they  walked  near  the  Sherman  monument  a  limou 
sine  passed  them,  and  out  of  the  polished  window  gazed  a 
dog  with  a  pink  ribbon  around  its  neck.  Emmett  noticed 
the  fine  lady  who  held  the  dog,  as  she  stared  straight 
ahead,  as  though  she  were  a  saint  passing  through  hell 
and  not  wishing  to  speak  to  the  inhabitants.  He  forgot 
his  testimony,  and  asserted  himself. 

"That's  a  hell  of  a  note,"  he  said  to  the  Conductor, 
"that  dog  has  it  nicer  than  I  have.  Why  does  everybody 
say  they  are  treated  like  dogs  ?  They'd  better  say  they're 
treated  like  tramp  kids." 

224 


HYPOCRISY  REWARDED  225 

"I  know,  it  looks  wrong,"  said  the  good  man,  "that  so 
many  hungry  children  should  be  in  the  city,  but  you  know 
that  God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way,  his  wonders  to  per 
form."  Emmett  thought  for  a  moment,  and  then,  at  the 
risk  of  losing  the  badly  needed  suit  he  exclaimed, 

"Damn  mysterious.  It's  all  the  bunk — absolutely. 
Who  the  hell  is  God?  Does  he  hate  Irish  kids,  and  their 
mother?" 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  Conductor.  "In  fact  the  Kingdom 
of  Heaven  is  made  up  of  little  children." 

"Little — hell,"  said  Emmett,  "were  you  ever  in  an  Or 
phan  Asylum?" 

"No,"  replied  the  Conductor,  "not  exactly  an  Orphan 
Asylum." 

"Well,  I  was,"  said  Emmett,  "and  I've  seen  kids  die, 
too.  They  used  to  lay  them  in  the  chapel  after  they 
croaked.  I  suppose  they  folded  their  hands  so's  they 
could  thank  God  in  death  for  death  in  an  Orphans' 
Home." 

"You  will  never  be  happy  as  long  as  you  feel  the  way 
you  do  about  things,"  said  the  Conductor.  "The  sinful 
are  punished  and  the  good  are  rewarded  in  a  future  life." 

"Then  God  gives  the  fat  bishop  his  wine,  and  the  shop 
girl  the  blues,  and  she  gives  her  body  to  the  floorwalker, 
maybe,  so's  he  might  help  her  get  a  dollar  a  week  raise. 
I  wish  I'd  thrown  a  brick  at  that  damn  dog  and  woman.  \ 
She's  worse  than  the  dog,  the  damn  bum.  By  God,  I 
will  share  up.  This  whole  damn  business  is  wrong.  She 
ain't  done  as  much  in  this  world  as  I  have."  The  young 
hypocrite  was  a  man  for  the  moment. 


226  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"Why,  Emmett,"  asked  the  Conductor,  "has  the  devil 
taken  possession  of  you?" 

"Hell,  no!"  replied  Emmett,  "I'm  one  of  God's  little 
cherubs,  daubed  out  of  the  picture.  By  God !  I'll  bet  that 
woman  ain't  worthy  to  wipe  my  mother's  coffin."  The 
Conductor  placed  his  hand  upon  the  boy's  shoulder  as  if  to 
calm  him,  as  they  stood  near  the  statue  of  the  grim 
Sherman. 

"Sherman  said  war  was  hell.  Life's  hell  also,"  said  the 
boy. 

"Well,  suppose  you  should  die  and  meet  God,  then 
what  would  you  do,  or  say?"  asked  the  Conductor,  as  he 
removed  his  red  cap  and  stroked  the  small  river  of  dark 
hair  on  his  head. 

"Well,  I'd  say,  'Hello,  God !  you  surely  passed  me  the 
raspberries.'  Then  he'd  get  all  sored  up,  and  I'd  say, 
'Why,  even  you're  so-called  Beloved  Son  asked  you  why 
you'd  deserted  him.  Why  you  desert  even  the  boobs  who 
believe  in  you,  and  they're  too  blind  to  see  it/  Then  I'd 
recite  him  some  verses  I  wrote  one  time  about  his  fat 
bishops  and  deacons,  and  that  tribe  who  believe  in  him, 
how 

They  croak  like  ravens  near  a  well, 
At  men  who  dare  to  speak  the  truth, 
They  suck  the  blood  and  leave  the  shell 
And  trample  on  the  heart  of  youth 

and  I'd  tell  him  that, 

They  place  a  genius  on  a  rack 
His  most  complex  and  gifted  son, — 
They  tear  his  soul  like  an  empty  sack, 
And  lay  the  pieces  in  the  sun. 


HYPOCRISY  REWARDED  227 

When  Emmett  had  finished  the  horrified  Conductor  again 
removed  his  cap  and  stroked  the  wisp  of  hair. 

"Did  you  write  those  verses?"  asked  he. 

"Yes,  I  meant  to  mail  them  to  God,  but  I  lost  his  ad 
dress." 

The  Conductor  was  not  irritated  at  the  attitude  taken 
by  Emmett.  He  placed  a  kindly  hand  on  his  shoulder  as 
he  rang  the  bell  at  the  given  number,  and  said, 

"As  long  as  people  are  sincere  and  kind  in  this  world, 
nothing  else  matters.  If  you  talked  to  God  that  way,  he 
might  even  respect  you  for  it.  But  you'll  admit  that  it's 
a  big  job,  for  one  God,  won't  you?" 

"Yes,  but  he  loafs  on  the  job,"  replied  Emmett. 

Just  then  a  woman  appeared  at  the  door  with  the 
clothes,  among  which  was  a  suit  that  almost  fitted  Emmett. 
They  rode  back  to  the  Bowery  where  a  Russian  Jew  tailor 
remodeled  the  suit,  the  Conductor  paying  him  a  dollar  for 
so  doing.  Thus  Emmett  was  attired  in  an  expensive  suit, 
which  shone  like  the  headlight  on  an  engine,  but  which 
passed  for  almost  new  in  Emmett's  circle. 

Then  came  St.  Patrick's  day,  the  seventeenth  of  M'arch. 
There  never  was  a  more  beautiful  morning.  White  clouds 
dotted  a  sky  as  blue  as  the  Mediterranean  on  a  calm  June 
day.  Spring  came  almost  unheralded  and  trailed  zephyrs 
through  the  congested  hives  of  men,  and  made  them 
respond  to  the  glory  of  it — like  fame-mad  poets  singing 
on  the  way  to  battle. 

Factory  laborers,  weary  of  soul-crushing  routine,  sweat 
shop  girls,  dreaming  of  a  Robert  W.  Chambers  hero  whose 
touch  would  make  their  weary  bodies  thrill  with  new 


228  EMMETT  LAWLER 

life,  jaded  owners  of  country  estates,  pickpockets  with 
long  fingers  and  ferret  eyes,  men  and  women  all,  with 
crushed,  distorted  lives  and  unrealized  ideals — felt  the 
magic  of  renewed  life  and  gazed  with  longing  eyes  at  the 
hazy  ether,  like  prisoners  who  look  through  bars  at  some 
far-off  land  of  beginning  again,  when  they  know  they  are 
shut  in  forever. 

New  York  for  the  first  time  seemed  as  human  as  Chi 
cago  to  Emmett.  And  as  one  leaves  a  woman,  whom  he 
fears  he  will  learn  to  love,  the  boy  from  Broken  Moun 
tain  was  anxious  to  be  gone. 


TROUBLE 

ONE  thing  stood  in  the  way — his  parting  with  the  Con 
ductor.  Try  as  he  would,  he  could  not  muster  courage 
to  tell  him.  He  had  been  so  thoroughly  decent,  he  had 
still  been  kind  when  Emmett  had  ridiculed  everything 
which  he  held  dear — "and  God  knows,"  thought  Emmett, 
"his  life  had  been  no  bed  of  roses  either."  He  hid  a  pain- 
shriveled  heart  also,  and  he  drank  no  rare  wine,  nor 
walke'd  on  velvet  stairs,  nor  had  he  been  surrounded  and 
complimented  on  a  worthless  sermon  by  superficial 
women  who  wore  thick  glasses  when  they  were  forced  to 
lodk  at  life. 

He  walked  up  and  down  the  Bowery,  and  suddenly 
thought  of  writing  a  letter  to  his  friend !  "He  could  write 
better  than  he  talked,"  he  thought,  for  had  he  not  always 
won  the  prize  in  the  Home  for  composition?  He  bought 
pa'per  and  envelope  and  walked  to  the  Cooper  Union  Li 
brary.  One  of  the  kind  women,  who  had  been  his  friend 
in  the  library,  came  up  to  talk  to  him — a  rare  human 
angel  she  was — who  had  spent  the  best  years  of  her  pul 
sating  life  in  a  wilderness  of  dead  dreams.  When  his 
letter  had  been  finished,  he  bade  good-by  to  the  women 
in  the  library,  and  walked  out  and  mailed  it. 

He  paid  his  fare  to  Yonkers,  where  he  waited  for  a 

229 


230  EMMETT  LAWLER 

train  going  west.  As  he  waited,  he  thought  how  pleased 
the  Conductor  might  be  with  the  letter.  Many  a  bishop 
had  not  been  told  that  he  was  Christ's  real  brother. 

A  freight  of  empty  cattle  cars  came  rolling  along.  The 
boy  swung  into  an  empty  car,  and  was  left  alone  with 
the  odor  of  departed  cattle  all  the  way  to  Albany.  The 
crew  saw  him  on  the  train,  but  spring  had  thawed  their 
hearts,  and  they  walked  blithely  past  him,  as  a  dining  car 
passes  a  hungry  tramp.  The  Hudson  looked  like  silver 
poured  across  a  beautiful  valley.  The  odor  of  cattle  was 
forgotten,  as  the  boy  sat  in  the  door  and  watched  the 
magic  scenery. 

When  Emmett  reached  Albany  he  strolled  down  to  the 
Salvation  Army  Headquarters,  but  the  club  of  an  Irish 
policeman  convinced  him  that  he  was  mistaken  in  think 
ing  he  had  the  freedom  of  the  city.  He  soon  felt  that  he 
did  not  like  Albany  any  too  well  anyhow,  so  he  sneaked 
past  the  gateman  at  the  station,  and  was  soon  on  his  way 
west  with  the  March  night  gathering  about  him. 

The  spring  day  turned  into  a  cold  night.  The  contrast 
would  have  been  no  greater  had  Effie  faded  into  an  old 
woman  within  a  few  hours. 

He  stood  on  the  Limited  Train  between  the  coal  tender 
and  the  first  car,  and  his  thoughts  flew  with  the  speed  of 
the  train  at  seventy  miles  an  hour. 

And  as  he  thought,  a  miniature  Niagara  flowed  over 
him  from  the  water  tank  above.  In  less  than  a  minute 
every  stitch  of  clothing  on  him  was  soaking  wet. 

The  cold  contact  of  the  water  startled  him,  but  with 
presence  of  mind  he  clutched  the  iron  ladder  and  held 


TROUBLE  231 

on  to  keep  from  falling  beneath  the  wheels.  In  another 
moment  his  clothes  were  caked  with  thin  ice. 

There  was  nothing  to  do  but  stand  it  until  the  next  stop. 
For  "standing  the  gaff"  was  one  thing  a  young  tramp  had 
to  learn,  who  dared  to  ride  mail  trains.  He  resolved  to 
watch  for  the  trough  between  the  rails  from  which  the 
water  was  scooped  into  the  tank.  He  had  known  that  all 
fast  trains  take  water  "on  the  fly,"  but  in  his  haste  to 
leave  Albany  he  had  forgotten  it. 

He  waited  patiently  in  frozen  clothes  until  he  saw  the 
trough,  and  he  then  climbed  down  on  the  side  of  the 
swaying  tender  until  the  tank  would  fill  and  overflow. 
But  again  he  reckoned  without  the  wind,  which  the  flying 
train  made  travel  at  a  great  velocity. 

Again  the  water  fell  all  over  him,  and  the  desperate  lad 
then  crawled  up  the  iron  ladder  and  over  the  coal  into  the 
engine  cab.  It  was  a  last  wild  impulse  and  was  only 
actuated  by  a  trying  situation,  as  tramps  never  mingle  with 
railroad  men  while  they  are  on  duty. 

The  engineer  had  his  eyes  on  the  white  rails  as  the 
giant  engine  swayed  sideways  and  lurched  onward  and 
onward.  The  fireman  looked  around  and  saw  the  boy 
crawling  toward  him  like  a  drowning  rat,  and  he  at  once 
left  his  seat.  He  had  coal  to  shovel  first,  and  as  he 
opened  the  door  of  the  fire-box,  the  light  shone  back,  and 
then  engineer  and  fireman  looked  at  the  water  dripping 
from  the  boy's  clothes.  The  boy  stood  near  the  engineer's 
knee,  while  he  held  his  big  hand  on  the  throttle  that  con 
trolled  the  iron  monster  as  it  thundered  and  thundered 
through  the  night. 


232  EMMETT  LAWLER 

The  engineer  took  his  glance  from  the  steel  rails  ahead, 
and  yelled  to  the  fireman,  "Put  the  kid  up  in  front  of  you," 
and  then  he  turned  his  eyes  to  the  gray  rails  again. 

The  fireman  had  the  boy  lie  down  in  front  of  his  seat 
against  the  boiler  of  the  engine.  He  was  warm  and  dry 
when  the  train  reached  Syracuse  and  rolled  through  the 
heart  of  the  town. 

"We  change  engines  here,  kid,"  said  the  fireman,  "do 
you  want  to  come  and  eat  with  me  ?" 

"Gee,  I'd  like  to,  but  I'd  rather  beat  it  on  out  if  I  can," 
replied  Emmett.  Before  the  train  reached  the  station  he 
bade  his  good  friends  good-by,  and  left  it.  He  waited  un 
til  it  was  ready  to  go  out  again — but  he  did  not  go  with  it. 

He  was  arrested  for  vagrancy  and  attempting  to  board 
a  train,  and  many  other  terrible  charges.  The  cells  of  the 
jail  were  all  full,  so  Emmett  lay  on  top  of  one  of  them, 
in  the  room,  in  which  strong  lights  burned  all  night.  An 
army  of  cockroaches  marched  in  single  and  double  file  all 
over  the  ceiling  and  walls  of  the  place.  Emmett  amused 
himself  watching  them,  and  kept  saying, — "Hip-hip-hipa, 
the  hipa,  the  hip"  while  the  marching  roaches  swung  into 
different  positions. 

A  drunken  reveler,  locked  in  a  cell,  shouted  wild  song 
below. 

"If  you  don't  keep  still,  you  drunken  devil,  I'll  come 
down  and  slap  hell  out  of  you,"  said  the  taunter  on  top 
of  his  cell.  The  enraged  drunkard  could  no  more  get  out 
than  Emmett  could  get  in  his  cell,  but  he  shook  the  bars 
in  violence.  Emmett  teased  him  until  sleep  overtook 
drunkard  and  vagrant  boy,  and  they  closed  their  eyes 


TROUBLE  233 

upon  the  marching  cockroaches  and  the  hot  lights  till 
morning. 

When  morning  came  Emmett  stood  before  the  Justice 
of  the  Peace  to  face  trial.  The  Justice  was  a  small  man 
who  attached  large  importance  to  himself.  The  police 
asked  the  boy  many  questions  about  imaginary  crimes 
they  seemed  certain  he  had  committed.  One  brave  official 
with  only  a  revolver  on  his  person,  and  only  twice  as 
large  as  Emmett,  slapped  him  in  the  face  when  the  Irish 
boy  told  him  that  anybody  could  pinch  a  tramp  kid  without 
a  dime. 

"Here!  that's  wrong,"  said  another  policeman,  as  the 
hot  blood  surged  to  Emmett's  face. 

"You're  damn  right,  it's  wrong.  And  I  can  lick  the  big 
stiff  too  in  a  stand-up  fight.  The  Judge  could  give  me 
life  for  what  I  think  of  him,"  said  Emmett  as  he  marched 
to  face  the  Judge. 

"Emmett  Lawler,"  said  the  Justice,  upon  whose  shoul 
ders  rested  the  mantle  of  John  Marshall,  "you  are  charged 
with  vagrancy,  and  loitering  upon  railroad  property. 
Guilty  or  not  guilty." 

"Guilty,  your  Honor,"  answered  Emmett. 

"Ten  days  in  the  County  Jail,"  said  the  Mighty  Jurist. 

Emmett  spent  the  next  ten  days  with  people  charged 
with  such  light  crimes  as  murder  and  arson.  One  huge 
negro  was  charged  with  rape.  The  negro  was  as  crazy  as 
a  drunken  prohibitionist,  and  raved  continually  about  re 
ligion  in  the  manner  of  the  Right  Reverend  William 
Sunday. 

The  colored  gentleman  owned  a  Bible,  which  Emmett 


234  EMMETT  LAWLER 

borrowed  and  read  during  the  first  three  days.  And  he 
enjoyed  it  also.  Then  a  kind  hearted  jailer  gave  him 
some  Police  Gazettes,  and  when  they  were  read  he  ob 
tained  for  him  some  Atlantic  Monthly's  and  Harper's. 

The  colored  woman-hound  said  that  the  sheriff  fur 
nished  the  grub  and  made  a  profit  on  it.  Emmett  be 
lieved  it.  The  coffee  was  blacker  than  the  negro's  hair, 
and  weaker  than  his  mind.  The  meat  was  the  odor  of 
the  embalmed  stuff  the  soldiers  ate  in  Cuba,  and  it  may 
possibly  have  been  some  of  it.  The  soup  was  compli 
mented  at  being  called  such  a  splendid  name. 

Emmett' s  crime  was  not  considered  as  desperate  as  the 
negro's,  and  he  was  allowed  to  walk  about  the  corridor  of 
the  jail.  The  conditions  in  the  jail  were  very  sanitary,  as 
Emmett  did  not  have  to  lay  his  head  on  any  of  the  plumb 
ing.  That  had  thoughtfully  been  placed  a  foot  away  from 
his  cot. 

Emmett  gave  the  negro  his  soup  every  day.  Men 
should  not  be  too  fastidious  in  Beggar  Land,  but  true 
aristocrats  are  born,  and  Emmett  really  wished  the  negro 
to  have  the  soup.  For  he  deserved  punishment.  But  he 
thought  he  was  saved  and  expected  to  go  to  heaven. 

Emmett  did  not  cry  when  the  tenth  day  arrived.  He 
was  really  glad.  He  was  released  and  given  his  few  be 
longings,  and  warned  not  to  beg  within  the  confines  of  the 
city,  and  to  hasten  on  his  way.  Emmett  wondered  why — 
if  they  wanted  him  to  hurry  at  this  time,  they  had  detained 
him  ten  days. 

Some  future  time,  the  shades  of  Spencer,  Schopenhauer, 


TROUBLE  235 

Blackstone,  Webster  and  Lecky,  with  fifty  others,  will 
try  to  solve  the  problem  of  American  Law.  After  fifty 
meetings  they  will  return  to  the  World  of  Shades  in  dis 
gust.  Old  Schopenhauer  will  sit  in  the  lap  of  a  blonde 
angel  with  great  wings,  while  she  reads  his  "Essay  on 
Women"  aloud. 

That  night  Emmett  tried  to  ride  west  again  with  the 
very  best  of  luck.  He  stood  between  the  second  and  third 
car  of  the  limited  mail  train  this  time,  for  though  he  had 
not  even  had  a  cold  the  morning  after  his  experience  with 
the  water,  still  he  thought  it  a  trifle  inconvenient  to  ride 
that  way — a  wet  tramp  through  the  night. 

Two  other  tramps  stood  between  the  cars,  bound  for 
Buffalo.  Busy  mail  clerks  walked  back  and  forth  between 
the  cars,  carrying  sacks  of  mail. 

The  mail  is  always  placed  in  stacks  along  the  walls  of 
the  car,  piled  high  in  each  stack  for  the  different  cities 
along  the  road. 

The  Chicago  mail  was  in  the  extreme  corner  near  where 
the  men  stood,  as  it  was  the  last  city  on  the  road.  Em 
mett  conceived  the  idea  of  burying  himself  in  the  stack 
of  Chicago  mail.  He  was  quickly  assisted  by  the  two 
tramps  while  the  clerks  were  busy  with  their  work.  Em 
mett  never  found  the  railroad  clerks  unkind  to  him. 

He  covered  himself  with  the  mail,  and  was  not  mo 
lested  until  the  train  rolled  into  the  La  Salle  Street  Sta 
tion  in  Chicago.  He  had  ridden  a  distance  of  nearly 
seven  hundred  miles. 

When  the  first  mail  sack  was  pulled  from  the  stack, 


236  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Emmett  was  quickly  on  the  floor,  and  before  the  startled 
mail  clerk  could  realize  what  was  going  on,  the  boy 
was  out  of  the  car  and  passing  through  the  gate  that  led 
to  the  waiting  room. 

It  was  early  April  in  Chicago  again — a  splendid  combi 
nation. 


INCIDENTS  REMEMBERED 

WHEN  Byron  called  Rome  his  city  of  the  soul,  he  was  not 
a  penniless  vagrant,  and  though  Emmett  was,  Chicago 
has  always  remained  his  city  of  the  soul.  There  never  was 
a  time  in  the  lad's  history  that  he  did  not  find  friends 
there.  The  vast  city  and  the  very  name  of  it  have  always 
been  to  Emmett  something  set  apart. 

The  years  have  touched  him  now,  an  unlucky  thirteen 
more,  and  he  could  not  return  to  the  glad-mad  gypsy  days, 
when  a  dollar  was  a  king's  ransom,  and  doughnuts  and 
coffee  were  the  beginning  of  luxury  for  the  day.  But 
everything  is  changed  in  his  city  of  the  soul  now,  for 
one  night,  a  year  ago,  when  he  passed  through  there  on  his 
journey  from  Los  Angeles  to  New  York,  he  walked  for 
hours  about  his  old  love'd  district. 

Time  had  blotted  out  everything  but  the  memory  of 
those  days.  Where  the  Newsboys'  Home  once  stood  on 
Wabash  Avenue,  there  was  a  larger  building.  The 
Coliseum,  almost  directly  opposite,  was  still  there,  and  the 
bell  tolled  from  the  Episcopalian  church  above  the  noise 
of  the  street  in  the  same  old  way.  But  the  lads  who  had 
heard  the  chimes  on  Sunday  morning  were  now  scattered 
wide  over  the  world.  Some  were  lying  in  graves  in 
France,  having  given  all  tor  the  nation  that  had  been  none 
too  kind  to  them.  Some  were  in  prison,  and  some  were 

237 


238  EMMETT  LAWLER 

drunkards,  and  a  few,  though  scorched  by  the  fires  of  life, 
were  still  trying  to  struggle  on. 

For  the  most  part,  the  histories  of  the  newsboys  were 
written  in  sand,  and  the  waters  of  life  had  washed  them 
away.  Life  was  lived  riotously  there,  some  of  the  boys 
were  kind  and  generous,  others  had  the  souls  of  bandits 
and  the  treacherous  cunning  which  only  the  gutter  can 
teach.  Emmett  loved  them  all  for  without  exception  they 
were  kind  to  him.  Neither  did  he  live  apart  from  them ; 
he  quarreled  and  fought,  he  shared,  and  had  money  shared 
with  him. 

Many  of  the  boys  were  gathered  in  front  o:  the  Home 
when  Emmett  arrived.  They  greeted  him,  as  explorers 
greet  one  of  their  own  from  a  far  place.  Back  in  the 
playroom  on  a  wooden  bench,  he  told  his  exploits  to  the 
lads,  to  whom  such  tales  were  old,  but  always  new.  Three 
of  the  boys  took  him  to  dinner,  and  they  spurned  the 
Greek  restaurant  where  a-  substantial  meal  could  be  pur 
chased  for  fifteen  cents.  They  went  to  the  best  eating 
place  in  the  district,  where  coffee  alone  sold  for  five  cents 
a  cup,  for  it  was  always  a  feast  or  a  famine  on  Wabash 
Avenue.  One  day  the  boys  would  have  a  whole  silver 
dollar,  and  the  next  day  they  would  not  have  one  penny 
to  rub  against  another. 

Sam  Hutchins  was  in  the  party — Sam,  of  the  red  heart 
and  the  white  soul.  Life  has  made  Emmett  cynical — but 
Samuel,  whose  dust  has  long  blended  with  the  dust  of  his 
native  state,  was  one  of  the  noblest  characters  he  has 
ever  known.  They  speak  of  lilies  growing  in  a  dung- 
heap.  How  easy !  A  diamond  in  a  sewer — a  nightingale 


INCIDENTS  REMEMBERED  239 

at  the  buzzard  feast  of  life — was  Samuel.  Emmett  never 
knew  Sam  to  think  of  himself,  and  once,  when  he  wore  a 
beautiful  necktie,  given  him  on  Christmas,  Emmett  ad 
mired  it,  and  Sam  said,  "Do  you  want  it,  Emmett?" 

And  Joe  Bertucci  was  also  there.  His  nature  was  rich 
with  the  most  vivid  emotions.  He  would  sit  quietly  for 
hours  and  listen  to  Grand  Opera.  He  knew  music,  espe 
cially  song;  he  could  not  talk  about  them,  but  he  could 
feel  them.  He  did  not  read  Shakespeare's  plays,  but  he 
saw  Marlowe  and  Sothern  appear  in  them,  and  he  deeply 
enjoyed  the  wonderful  rhythm  and  play  of  words.  A 
line  of  the  Immortal  Master's  like, 

"Bare  ruined  choirs  where  late  the  sweet  birds  sang/' 

would  haunt  him.  No  human  being  had  to  tell  him  that 
life  was  a  fever  full  of  sound  and  fury,  signifying  nothing. 
Emmett  watched  his  eyes  once  when  Lady  Macbeth  said 
that  the  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine  could  never  wash 
the  blood  spots  from  her  hand.  He  sat — an  Italian 
dreamer  upon  a  beautiful  sea  of  words — not  conscious  of 
space  nor  time. 

How  has  life  treated  this  beautiful  nature — this  rein 
carnated  soul  of  a  Dante,  the  gambler  and  vagrant  who 
would  give  his  last  dime  away  ?  He  is  a  porter  in  a  west 
ern  hotel — a  radical — as  was  Christ,  and  men  of  the  race 
of  Christ  selling  things  through  the  west,  sometimes  talk 
to  him  about  business.  One  of  them  said  to  Emmett  once 
that  it  was  too  bad  that  Joe  could  not  do  something  for 
himself,  and  Emmett  asked,  "What  would  you  have  him 
do?" 


240  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"Well,"  said  the  salesman,  "Joe  should  make  more 
money,  he's  bright  enough."  In  this,  our  glorious  Amer 
ica,  they  would  reduce  Christ  and  the  Christ-natures  to 
terms  of  dollars  and  cents. 

Is  it  to  be  regretted  that  Jesus  did  not  earn  as  much 
in  a  lifetime  as  a  fashionable  preacher  earns  in  a  month? 
Measured  by  world  service,  the  penniless  Christ  was  worth 
— but  let  us  return  to  Emmett. 

The  lad  met  Vivian  and  found  her  completely  changed. 
It  was  as  though  the  Master  Weaver  had  picked  up  a 
white  lily  just  beginning  to  fade,  and  had  instilled  into  it 
new  life,  and  painted  it  with  a  dash  of  carmine. 

"Back  to  dear  old  Chi,"  she  said,  as  she  greeted  him; 
"they  all  come  back,  so  there's  no  use  to  leave.  But  I 
may  take  a  jump  in  the  fall — clear  to  Cuba." 

Vivian  was  now  the  wife  of  a  player  on  the  Chicago 
National  League  team.  "I'm  Mrs.  Ed.  Ravan  now,  and 
hubby's  a  good  guy,  too ;  you'll  like  him.  Of  course  he'll 
never  die  of  brain  fever,  but  he  knows  how  to  rake  in 
the  shekels,  and  he's  good  to  me.  I  eat  a  half  dozen  times 
a  day,  so's  to  make  up  for  all  the  feeds  I've  lost." 

"Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Emmett,  "I  may  need 
a  feed  now  and  then."  It  was  easy  to  become  fond  of 
Vivian,  for  she  had  learned  in  a  hard  school  the  art  of 
making  men  care.  Vivian's  nature  was  not  deep,  and 
there  was  not  room  enough  in  it  for  the  great  things 
of  life  to  sink.  But  now  and  then,  as  in  the  case  of 
such  natures,  she  would  see  deeper  than  people  realized. 
Vivian  believed  with  the  genius  who  said  that  one  had  to 


INCIDENTS  REMEMBERED  241 

laugh  at  mankind  to  keep  from  crying,  but  once  in  a  while 
in  the  quiet  hours  she  would  cry  a  little  with  Emmett,  but 
for  the  most  part  her  philosophy  of  life  was  summed  up  in 
the  words  she  often  used,  regarding  life  and  death  and 
love  and  everything,  "To  the  devil  with  it  all,  let's  not 
miss  a  drink." 

As  far  as  is  known  during  these  years  of  Emmett's  life, 
he  never  refused  a  drink.  It  was  said  once  by  some  that 
he  ignored  an  offer  of  a  drink,  but  that  is  a  mooted  ques 
tion,  for  Emmett  sought  to  prove  later  that  he  had  been 
asleep,  and  did  not  hear  the  invitation. 

Emmett  now  had  the  strength  of  a  young  bull,  his 
shoulders  were  broad  and  heavy,  and  his  neck  was  six 
teen  inches  around.  He  was  a  smaller  replica  of  his  fight 
ing  uncle,  and  hard  muscles  bulged  in  his  compact  body. 
His  jaw  was  as  square  as  a  block  of  granite,  and  in  re 
pose  his  expression  was  sometimes  stern,  but  was  easily 
lit  up  by  a  smile  which  showed  large,  even  white 
teeth.  The  rough  life,  the  practice  with  boxing  gloves 
whenever  possible,  had  been  a  help  instead  of  a  hindrance. 
His  only  philosophy  of  life  then,  was  the  philosophy  of 
complete  freedom,  and  he  endured  everything  under  the 
sun  so  that  his  soul  might  still  be  free.  He  early  noticed 
the  brains  of  brilliant  men  being  ground  to  powder  to  be 
fired  out  of  economic  cannons  by  Captains  of  Industry 
more  stolid  than  they,  and  he  likewise  early  resolved  that 
a  hungry  eagle  was  happier  than  a  well-fed  barnyard 
fowl. 

Factory  employees  had  a  pay-day  twice  a  month,  but 


242  EMMETT  LAWLER 

they  were  never  paid  as  well  as  Emmett  was.  All  they 
could  buy  were  the  necessities  of  life,  and  Emmett  had  its 
luxuries.  He  knew  bandits  and  pimps,  many  sinners  and 
no  saints.  They  made  him  their  confidant,  and  he  never 
betrayed  any  of  them. 


A  MAN  DIES 

EMMETT  knew,  in  a  large  city,  nameless  here,  a  youth 
condemned  to  be  hanged.  The  youth  was  determined  to 
meet  his  God  without  a  blue  mark  around  his  neck,  and 
Emmett  knew  some  men  on  the  outside  who  had  deter 
mined  to  help  him.  It  is  pathetic  to  see  the  watch  the 
law  keeps  about  the  men  whom  it  plans  to  kill.  They  set 
the  stage  for  the  drama  with  precise  care.  The  youth  did 
also 

" sit  with  silent  men, 

Who  watch  him  night  and  day; 

Who  watch  him  when  he  tried  to  weep, 

And  when  he  tried  to  pray; 

Who  watch  him  lest  himself  should  rob 

The  prison  of  its  prey." 

But  from  some  source,  in  spite  of  human  eyes  watching 
day  and  night,  a  tiny  pearl  handled  knife  found  its  way 
to  the  condemned  boy  a  day  before  the  farewell  touch  of 
the  Executioner  would  send  him  to  oblivion. 

He  cut  the  veins  in  his  wrist,  and  slowly,  slowly  bled, 
while  the  nails  were  being  driven  into  the  gallows  tree. 

There  was  consternation  in  the  prison,  the  man  who  was 
to  be  killed  had  dared  to  kill  himself,  or  nearly  so.  The 
law  was  not  to  be  cheated  thus ;  what  would  sensational 
newspapers  say  of  such  an  outrage !  A  wheel  chair  came 

243 


244  EMMETT  LAWLER 

quickly  to  the  doomed  youth's  cell,  and  unconscious,  he 
was  placed  in  charge  of  the  Executioner. 

The  latter  moved  about  with  the  cruel  eyes  of  a  butcher 
in  the  stockyards.  He  seemed  alarmed  at  losing  the 
money  paid  by  the  state  for  the  execution  of  a  man.  He 
looked  healthy,  and  it  was  said  of  him  that  he  slept  as 
soundly  each  night  as  the  humblest  parish  priest.  The 
strangled  shrieks  of  dying  men  were  part  of  his  day's 
routine.  But  the  square- jawed  Emmett  shrank  when  he 
looked  into  his  beady  eyes. 

The  Chaplain  could  say  nothing,  for  the  man  was  be 
yond  the  need  of  soul  salve.  They  wheeled  him  past  the 
inmates  of  Condemned  Row,  and  one  inmate  shouted, 
"So  long,  Jack,  meet  you  in  hell  in  two  weeks."  But  Jack, 
with  his  head  upon  his  chest,  never  answered. 

Had  this  boy  been  given  a  happier  environment  as  a 
youth,  had  his  father  not  been  burned  to  death  by  be 
coming  exhausted  and  falling  into  a  vessel  of  molten 
steel,  so  that  all  that  ever  came  to  the  surface  was  a 
patch  of  grease,  had  his  mother  not  been  forced  to  slave 
on  a  street  unfit  for  beasts,  he  might  have  never  come  to 
the  gallows. 

Even  at  the  trial  not  a  word  had  been  said  about  the 
men  who  with  Government  License  had  sold  the  boy 
the  fiendish  liquor  that  had  made  a  madman  out  of  him. 
For  Jack  would  not  have  hurt  a  fly  when  sober,  and  he 
would  step  carefully  over  the  sidewalk  so  that  he  would 
not  crush  the  life  out  of  ants  which  crawled  thereon. 

But  human  lives  are  regulated  according  to  no  schedule. 
Villains  are  sometimes  clothed  with  the  dignity  of  church 


A  MAN  DIES  245 

and  state,  while  misled  boys  swing  from  the  end  of  a 
rope  upon  a  gallows  tree. 

Jack  was  hurried  to  the  gallows,  and  his  eyes  were  closed. 
They  put  a  black  habit  over  his  head,  so  that  he  could  not 
see  the  sun,  for  they  were  considerate,  and  did  not  wish 
a  man  to  blink  his  eyes  in  the  face  of  God,  but  they  need 
not  have  worried,  and  they  knew  in  their  hearts  they  need 
not.  But  like  a  lot  of  marionettes  upon  a  wooden  stage, 
they  held  Jack's  limp  head  in  straight  position  while  they 
adjusted  the  habit,  and  kindly  and  cautiously  removed  him 
from  the  chair  in  order  not  to  hurt  him. 

They  held  him  in  position  while  the  rope  was  ad 
justed  about  his  neck.  The  Chaplain  closed  the  Book 
which  he  had  not  used,  for,  as  said  before,  it  was  useless 
to  tell  the  boy  that  any  one  was  the  Resurrection  and  the 
Life.  The  Chaplain  looked  up  out  of  the  small  enclosure 
at  the  blue  sky.  His  head  sank  upon  his  breast  as  though 
lead  were  in  his  brain.  Even  the  jailers  moved  about  as 
if  they  were  conscious  of  the  fact  that  a  human  life  was 
to  be  snuffed  out.  A  horrible  silence  reigned.  A  sparrow, 
full  of  the  joy  of  life  and  freedom,  flew  above  the  en 
closure.  It  was  a  momentary  blot  against  the  sky.  The 
ticking  of  men's  watches  could  be  heard. 

Then — the  Executioner  sprang  the  trap. 

The  body  never  quivered — never  moved  by  the  veriest 
fraction  of  an  inch.  The  letter  of  the  law  had  not  been 
cheated.  It  had  broken  a  dead  man's  neck. 

Followers  of  the  Gentlest  of  Men — -this  crime  had  been 
committed  in  your  midst. 


EMMETT  WANDERS  SOUTH 

EMMETT  met  Vivian  in  Grant  Park  on  the  day  of  her 
departure  for  Cuba.  It  was  a  bright  November  day. 
White  waves  were  breaking  on  the  blue  bosom  of  Lake 
Michigan.  The  mighty  lake  was  one  thing  that  could 
arouse  the  sleeping  poetry  in  the  daughter  of  the  Race 
Perpetuator.  In  calm  or  stress,  the  lake  could  woo  and 
win  her.  A  sailing  vessel  was  outlined  against  the  hori 
zon  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see. 

The  children  from  the  gutters  of  life  were  in  a  dreamy 
mood.  They  peopled  the  sailing  vessel  with  imaginary 
men  and  women  and  described  them  in  detail — their 
homes,  their  loves,  their  passions,  and  their  hates. 

Vivian  was  enchanted,  she  said,  "Oh,  Emmy,  I  wish 
I  could  take  you  to  Cuba  with  me,  all  Ravan  talks  about 
is  baseball.  It's  Titcher  Casey  this/  and  'Catcher  Mulli 
gan  that/  and  'I  threw  him  a  low  curve,  and  he  missed  a 
high  one/  till  I  get  so  damned  bored,  I  could  hit  him  in 
the  head  with  a  bat.  He  ain't  such  a  worse  though,  but 
he's  got  a  baseball  where  his  brain  oughta  be.  It  gets  him 
the  green  paper  with  the  Presidents'  mugs  on,  though. 
'Course  I  don't  like  the  money,  No! ! !  I  just  like  to  look 
at  the  pictures  of  the  Presidents." 

"You're  different  than  me,  Vivian.  I'll  not  be  bored 
five  minutes,  but  then,  smart  women  will  spend  a  whole 

246 


EMMETT  WANDERS  SOUTH  247 

evening  with  a  dull  man  so's  they  can  see  a  show  and 
have  a  lunch  they  don't  need.  Why  don't  you  stay  in 
Chicago?" 

"Well,— I  want  to  see  Cuba." 

"Well,"  said  Emmett,  "if  you  leave  for  Cuba  I'll  leave 
for  New  Orleans  to-morrow." 

Vivian  left  for  Cuba  on  schedule  along  with  the  wives 
of  the  other  players.  Be  it  said  that  Ravan  was  the  pride 
of  the  youth  of  America,  for  he  could  throw  a  baseball 
farther  than  any  other  man  living. 

Emmett  had  told  Vivian  many  things  about  books.  He 
also  helped  her  select  books  that  she  liked.  She  read 
"Anna  Karenina"  all  through,  that  is,  she  read  all  the 
parts  wherein  Anna  figured  with  her  lover  and  husband. 
All  things  purely  emotional  struck  Vivian  forcibly,  but 
she  could  never  understand  why  Tolstoi  unloaded  all  his 
views  about  agriculture  and  saving  the  world  in  a  book 
about  Anna.  It  did  not  bother  her  much,  as  she  skipped 
those  parts.  She  laughed  as  she  told  Emmett  how  well 
read  her  husband  thought  she  was.  Before  she  left  Em 
mett  accompanied  her  to  a  second-hand  book  store  on 
North  Clark  Street,  where  she  purchased  Balzac's  "Droll 
Stories,"  Boccaccio's  "Decameron,"  and  the  "Novellino" 
of  Massucio.  "Good  people  are  so  darn  stupid  in  books," 
she  said  as  she  left  the  store,  "Ravan  will  think  I've  gone 
clear  dippy,  and  if  he  ditches  me,  Emmett,  it'll  be  your 
fault." 

Emmett  had  always  yearned  for  a  warm  climate,  where 
people's  hearts  were  as  warm  as  their  clime.  It  was 
never  hard  to  find  a  comrade  on  a  quest  of  adventure 


248  EMMETT  LAWLER 

about  the  Newsboys'  Home.  So  the  Fast  Mail  on  the 
Illinois  Central  had  the  descendants  of  two  different 
races  aboard  one  night  in  November.  A  son  of  Jerusalem, 
and  a  son  of  Ireland  had  decided  to  invade  the  south. 
Emmett  had  a  ten-dollar  bill  Vivian  had  given  him,  and 
the  Jewish  boy  had  eyes  like  his  mother,  perhaps. 

Emmett  and  Whitey  made  a  strange  compact.  "It's 
like  this,"  said  Emmett  to  Whitey,  "all  the  Jews  stick 
together,  and  you  can  bum  'em  all  in  the  towns,  and  lots 
of  'em'll  give  you  fifty  cents  and  a  dollar,  maybe.  Then 
we  can  buy  what  we  like." 

"That's  fine,"  said  Whitey,  "but  what'll  you  do  about 
the  Irish?" 

"Well,  you  see,  it's  this  way;  that'll  be  a  strange 
country,  and  they're  hostile  to  guys  on  the  road.  So 
when  we  get  in  a  tight  place,  I'll  go  and  ask  the  Irish, 
and  they'll  give  me  advice,  maybe."  Emmett  emphasized 
the  last  syllable  of  the  word  "hostile"  very  strongly,  as 
tramps  do  the  nation  over. 

Whitey  said,  "Who  says  a  Mick  couldn't  figger  with  a 
Jew?" 

"Well,  most  times,"  said  Emmett,  "the  Micks  do  the 
figuring,  and  the  Jews  take  the  money." 

All  went  merry  as  an  Irish  wake  until  the  train  roared 
into  Champaign.  They  escaped  being  arrested  by  a  very 
narrow  margin.  By  a  stroke  of  luck,  which  would  be 
considered  genius  in  any  other  world,  the  boys  eluded 
capture  after  the  train  was  surrounded.  They  stayed 
on  the  coal  tender  until  the  engine  was  cut  from  the  train, 
and  riding  ahead  upon  it  a  few  hundred  yards,  they  ran 


EMMETT  WANDERS  SOUTH  249 

like  madmen  across  the  tracks  and  boarded  the  tender  of 
the  other  engine  about  to  connect  with  the  train.  Then 
they  stretched  out  perfectly  still  until  the  engine  was 
attached,  and  pulled  the  fast  mail  train  out  of  the  station. 
The  boys  could  hear  the  voices  of  the  police,  and  see  the 
gleam  of  their  flashlights,  as  with  palpitating  hearts  they 
waited  for  the  minutes  to  crawl  by  like  hours  before  the 
train  started.  Save  only  the  evading  of  the  fireman,  when 
the  engine  took  water,  and  for  some  quick  thinking,  and 
quicker  moving  in  Cairo,  Illinois,  they  stayed  on  the  train 
until  within  fifty  miles  of  Memphis. 

Empty  stomachs  and  a  ten-dollar  bill  produced  the  de 
sire  to  trade  money  for  food.  The  keeper  of  a  restaurant 
obliged  the  boys  with  hot  water,  soap,  and  a  towel.  The 
grime  of  the  road  was  deep  within  their  skins,  and  the 
thorough  washing  revived  them  immensely.  It  is  easily 
written  here,  but  riding  over  four  hundred  miles  on  a 
mail  train,  with  eyes  and  ears  alert,  is  a  task  to  be  met  with 
stout  hearts  and  never-breaking  endurance.  The  engine 
threw  cinders  swifter,  thicker,  and  harder  than  the  sky 
throws  snow  in  winter. 

Some  of  them  were  still  hot  and  burned  the  faces  of 
the  young  tramps.  When  the  fireman  opened  the  door 
to  feed  the  engine  coal,  a  long  streak  of  light  flashed 
through  the  black  night,  and  great  clouds  of  white  and 
black  smoke  would  follow,  and  trail  over  the  cars,  and 
envelop  the  boys  in  its  gaseous  odor.  And  then  sometimes 
the  smoke  would  veer  across  the  fields,  and  the  engine 
would  thump,  thump,  thump  along  the  rails  as  steadily 
and  with  as  little  effort  as  a  Hamilton  watch.  While  all 


250  EMMETT  LAWLER 

the  time  it  was  breaking  through  the  night  at  seventy  or 
eighty  miles  an  hour.  The  train  swerved  and  swayed, 
the  engine  whistle  shrieked  in  ear-splitting  detonations 
for  crossings  and  villages  in  which  the  people  were 
stretched  in  rest  and  slumber.  The  lads  dreamed  over  old 
dreams  as  they  looked  at  the  faintly  shining  stars,  which 
now  and  then  peered  through  black  clouds. 

Emmett  was  not  on  the  roaring  train,  but  was  far  to  the 
north,  walking  down  a  country  road  with  Effie.  Above 
the  roar  of  the  train  the  voice  of  Whitey  yelled,  "Good 
thing  the  girl  slipped  you  that  ten  spot.  For  God's  sake, 
don't  lose  it."  Emmett  felt  quickly  for  the  folded  bill,  and 
breathed  easier  as  his  fingers  touched  it,  though  it  was 
pinned  securely  in  a  small  pocket  with  a  large  safety  pin. 

"Vivian's  about  getting  on  the  boat  for  Cuba,"  said 
Emmett.  "She's  the  best  card  in  my  deck.  All  the  time 
I've  known  her  she's  never  said  a  cross  word  to  me,  and 
she  dresses  like  a  million  dollars." 

Absence  was  telling  on  Emmett,  and  like  all  men  in  the 
far  places  on  the  lap  of  adventure,  he  thought  of  the  gentle 
touch  of  woman. 

"You're  a  lucky  devil,"  said  Whitey.  "It's  your  red 
hair,  I  guess.  Why  don't  you  marry  her?" 

"I  ain't  Brigham  Young.  She's  already  married.  And 
believe  me,  Ravan  got  a  square  little  girl,  too.  She'll  go 
seventy-thirty  with  any  man  who  treats  her  white,  for 
she's  been  over  the  bumps." 

"I  guess,"  commented  Whitey,  "some  broads  are  born 
square." 


EMMETT  WANDERS  SOUTH  251 

"There's  no  guess  about  Vivian;  she's  as  square  as 
your  head." 

"How  the  hell  do  you  get  that  way?"  asked  Whitey. 
"I  ain't  Irish." 

"Ain't  you  sorry?" 

"Yes,  you  bet,  I'm  cry  in'  cinders  about  it." 

The  town  in  which  the  boys  landed  was  sleepier  than 
Rip  Van  Winkle  the  first  hour  he  closed  his  eyes.  Hogs, 
as  tall  as  hounds,  and  as  skinny,  ran  through  the  muddy 
main  street.  A  street  sprinkler  had  turned  the  dust  into 
mud,  and  had  served  two  useful  purposes.  The  dust 
was  laid,  and  the  hogs  had  a  place  in  which  to  wallow. 

After  partaking  of  cornbread  and  sowbelly,  and  black 
jack  coffee,  they  strolled  down  the  track  and  met  another 
type  of  tramp.  He  merely  rode  trains  about  the  land,  and 
lived  as  the  Lord  provided.  He  was  a  fat,  good-natured 
member  of  several  fraternal  organizations,  all  of  which 
had  members  among  the  railroad  men.  He  managed  to 
keep  his  dues  paid  up,  as  a  matter  of  business.  He  was 
fairly  well  dressed,  and  looked  more  like  an  auctioneer 
than  a  tramp.  Fraternalism  helped  him,  as  it  was  proven 
to  the  boys  that  he  could  ride  in  the  caboose  and  hob-nob 
with  the  crew,  while  they,  if  seen,  were  chased  from  the 
train. 


A  HOBO  CAMP 

ALL  three  went  to  a  hobo  camp  situated  among  a  grove 
of  white  oak  trees  near  a  running  brook.  It  was  rigged 
up  and  ready  for  the  winter  exodus  of  tramps  from  the 
north.  A  box-car  door  was  laid  across  railroad  ties  for 
a  table.  Pans  and  skillets  hung  from  nails,  and  cleanli 
ness  and  order  were  everywhere.  A  stack  of  old  maga 
zines  were  on  the  car-door  table.  Four  tramps  stretched 
lazily  upon  the  grass  near  the  brook.  None  of  them  was 
a  tramp  in  a  broad  sense,  but  all  were  men  who  could 
chain  themselves  to  no  settled  routine  of  life. 

All  chatted  and  argued  as  the  afternoon  sun  rolled 
through  the  sky  within  two  hours  of  the  arms  of  night. 
All  in  the  crowd  had  money  but  Whitey,  so  each  one 
placed  seventy-five  cents  on  the  table  toward  buying  pro 
visions  for  the  evening  meal.  Whitey  and  the  Lodge 
Member  were  chosen  to  buy  the  food,  while  the  fire  was 
built  in  the  improvised  furnace,  and  water  was  carried 
from  the  brook.  They  returned  laden  with  meat  and 
eggs,  potatoes,  and  coffee,  and  with  other  necessities  for 
the  meal.  The  method  is  called  "jungling  up"  by  tramps. 
One  of  the  men  was  a  cook,  when  he  worked,  and  all 
assisting,  an  appetizing  meal  was  prepared.  The  odor  of 
sizzling  bacon,  the  aroma  of  coffee,  and  the  smell  of 
burning  wood  filled  the  air.  Just  at  dusk  the  meal  was 

252 


A  HOBO  CAMP  253 

placed  upon  the  improvised  table.  Two  lanterns  were 
lit  and  placed  upon  it,  and  never  did  seven  kings  in 
seven  palaces  enjoy  a  meal  with  greater  pleasure. 

A  whip-poor-will  called  in  a  tree  as  the  stars  came  out. 
All  the  men  listened  as  it  said  so  plainly  and  slowly — 
whip-poor-will  wh-ip-p-o-o-r-wi-l-l — over  and  over  again. 
Never  did  lone  bird  have  a  stranger  audience,  nor  a  more 
appreciative  one.  As  it  sang,  another  tramp  approached 
and  said,  "Hello,  mates,  am  I  just  in  time  ?" 

"You  bet  your  life,"  replied  the  Lodge  Member.  "We 
all  eat  here  in  the  mornin',  too."  The  strange  tramp 
looked  at  Emmett  under  the  light  of  the  lantern  and  said 
something  the  boy  has  never  forgotten.  Under  the  spell 
of  the  bird,  and  the  night,  and  the  stars,  it  sounded  weird. 
These  atoms  had  arrived  from  all  different  directions, 
until  this  day,  unaware  of  one  another's  existence.  "Well, 
Red,"  said  the  strange  tramp,  "it's  been  a  heck  of  a  time 
since  we  scoffed  at  the  same  table,  ain't  it?"  Emmett 
thought  for  a  moment  of  the  thousands  and  thousands  of 
years  that  had  elapsed  since  the  beginning  of  time,  dur 
ing  all  of  which  they  had  never  met,  and  replied,  "Damned 
if  it  hasn't."  And  the  strange  tramp,  with  a  red  kerchief 
about  his  neck,  laughed  a  mirthless  laugh.  He  ate 
voraciously,  his  hands  continually  moving  about  the  table. 

"I  been  in  the  stir  for  a  month  in  Jackson.  I  thought 
the  bloke  had  thrun  the  key  away  on  me.  Had  a  devil  of  a 
time.  Ate  cornbread  till  corn  grew  in  my  ears.  Lots 
oj  hospertality  in  the  south  all  right." 

When  the  strange  tramp  had  finished  the  table  was 
cleared  in  a  jiffy,  and  in  no  time  the  dishes  and  utensils 


254  EMMETT  LAWLER 

were  washed.  The  tin  dishes  clattered  as  the  tramps 
shifted  them  about.  Cigarettes,  pipes,  and  the  stubs 
of  cigars  were  lighted,  and  to  the  wonder  of  the  gang, 
Emmett  took  no  part  in  the  smoking.  "Gawd,"  said  one 
tramp,  "here's  a  punk  tramp  kid  that  don't  smoke." 

Another  whip-poor-will  had  heard  the  call  of  the  first, 
and  they  sent  messages  back  and  forth  above  the  heads 
of  the  tramps  who  now  argued  among  themselves.  Some 
tramps  are  great  readers,  and  they  dip  into  the  deeper 
channels  of  writing  also.  When  Sir  Rider  Haggard  was 
in  America,  he  met  a  tramp  who  had  been  introduced  to 
him  in  the  nature  of  a  joke.  When  the  tramp  caught  the 
name,  he  immediately  informed  the  astonished  Haggard 
that  he  had  read  his  books  and  passed  an  intelligent  opin 
ion  on  them.  When  the  interview  was  over  Haggard 
said  that  the  man  was  not  a  tramp,  but  a  gentleman  in 
distress.  Idle  hands  make  busy  brains,  as  the  wise,  if 
erratic  Schopenhauer  wrote,  and  it  holds  true  of  many 
tramps. 

The  talk  drifted  to  the  Civil  War,  and  one  rover  seemed 
to  have  made  it  a  life  study.  Lincoln  was  dilatory  in  re 
gard  to  McClellan,  even  weak.  He  had  given  a  foolish 
order  for  all  his  generals  to  make  a  movement  on  a  cer 
tain  day,  which  military  men  had  considered  impossible, 
and  had  later  criticized.  Robert  E.  Lee  was  the  greatest 
general  America  had  produced,  and  Stonewall  Jackson 
was  the  second  greatest.  "Give  two  guys  like  Lee  and 
Jackson,  the  breaks,  the  army,  and  guns,  and  grub,  and 
they'd  have  kept  Napoleon  and  Hannibal  busy — and  that's 
no  bunk  either,"  he  said. 


A  HOBO  CAMP  255 

Another  tramp  took  up  the  argument  for  Grant,  and 
when  pressed  hard  by  his  more  adroit  foe,  he  ended  his 
argument  by  saying  in  a  beaten,  sullen  manner,  "Well, 
Grant  won,  didn't  he?" 

"Good  God !  that's  a  baby's  argument,"  replied  the  other 
tramp.  "Many  a  good  man  has  been  beaten  in  this  world 
by  a  damn  poor  one,  that's  the  trouble  in  this  country, — 
if  you  win,  they  never  figure  how  you  won — but — did 
you  win?  Grant  held  every  ace  in  the  deck,  and  all  the 
kings  and  queens,  and  Lee  had  a  lot  o'  men  without 
shoes — besides — a  lot  o*  the  damn  states  in  the  south 
ain't  worth  fighting  for  anyhow.  Who  the  hell  could 
think  o'  dyin'  for  Mississippi,  because  the  rich  guys 
wanted  to  hold  slaves  there?  Believe  me,  Bo,  the  best 
some  of  the  poor  soldiers  get  out  o'  every  fight  is  the 
slurngullion.  But  it's  no  use  to  wake  people  up — the  poor 
boobs — just  as  many  white  slaves  in  factories  up  north, 
as  there  ever  was  black  babies  down  here." 

"Hire  a  hall,"  said  Whitey. 

"Yes!"  answered  the  tramp,  "you  should  blurb  about 
hirin'  a  hall — didyu  ever  see  your  brother  Jews  in  New 
York?  All  some  of  'em  ever  see  is  a  needle  an'  thread 
there  whole  danged  lives.  They  can  fall  in  line  and 
punch  the  clock — to  hell  with  it  all — I'm  free.  I  own 
the  world,  by  God — just  as  much  as  any  guy  on  Wall 
Street. 

"Things  are  all  right,  you  guys  are  always  squawkin'," 
said  Whitey. 

"Yep,  you're  sittin'  in  a  room,  lookin'  at  the  pictures 
on  the  wall,  an'  you  don't  see  the  bugs  in  the  bed — but 


256  EMMETT  LAWLER 

if  you  had  to  sleep  in  that  bed — then  you'd  roar  like  a 
baby  lion." 

"But  let's  get  back  to  Lee  and  Grant,"  said  the  strange 
tramp. 

"Nothin'  to  get  back  to.  Grant's  men  were  three  to 
one, — and  maybe  the  south  was  wrong — but  they  fought 
like  hell,  an'  you  gotta  admire  that.  Give  Lee  fifty  thou 
sand  men  and  Grant  fifty  thousand,  and  Lee  would  make 
a  monkey  outta  Grant." 

"Well,"  said  the  Lodge  Member,  "I  think  they're  dead, 
let  'em  rest." 

"Well,  jumpin'  fiddlesticks,  you  gotta  talk  about  some- 
thin' — wantta  suck  your  thumb? — the  whole  thing  was 
six  in  one  an'  a  half  dozen  in  the  other,"  he  went  on — 
"Lincoln  was  white,  but  he  was  not  a  darn  bit  whiter  than 
Robert  E.  Lee,"  said  the  Great  Rebel's  defender. 

"Lee  must  of  loaned  you  some  money,"  said  the  Lodge 
Member. 

"Nope, — Lee'd  o'  been  too  smart  to  o'  loaned  a  tramp 
money,  but  I'd  o'  slipped  him  a  dime  if  he'd  needed  it, 
an*  I  had  it.  Lookin'  at  Lee's  picture  makes  you  like 
men  better." 

A  lazy  southern  wind  arose  and  slightly  rustled  the 
dead  leaves  around  them.  More  wood  was  thrown  upon 
the  fire,  and  all  the  men  seemed  to  read  different  things 
in  the  blazing  fuel.  For  a  long  time  they  remained  silent, 
and  the  birds  had  either  flown  away  or  sleep  had  over 
taken  them.  The  fire  burned  lower  and  lower,  and  be 
came  dimmer  and  dimmer,  and  at  last  went  out.  Emmett 
watched  it  until  the  last  bright  piece  of  red  faded  into 


A  HOBO  CAMP  257 

the  darkness.    The  outlines  of  faces  were  lost,  save  when 
now  and  then  a  match  lit  a  cigarette,  or  pipe. 

The  long  echo  of  an  engine  whistle  reverberated 
through  the  still  night.  It  thrummed  the  chords  of  mem 
ory  in  the  boy's  soul — and  perhaps  in  the  souls  of  the 
other  tramps — for  they  remained  as  silent  as  tired  In 
dians  about  a  burned-out  forest  fire.  A  bird,  perhaps 
the  silent  whip-poor-will,  fluttered  in  a  tree.  The  engine 
whistle  was  heard  again — quite  loud,  then  faint,  and 
fainter — then  it  died  away — like  a  dying  man's  breath — 
upon  the  Tennessee  air.  Then  all  nature  slept  as  peace 
fully  as  a  weary  child. 

With  coats  thrown  across  their  shoulders,  the  men  re 
clined  upon  the  ground  until  early  dawn.  Emmett,  fas 
cinated  by  the  stars  overhead,  counted  them,  up  into  the 
hundreds,  until  his  brain  was  lulled  by  the  monotony  of 
numbers,  and  he,  too,  slept  until  they  faded  from  the  sky. 

The  November  morning  was  as  warm  as  a  May-day  in 
Ohio.  The  tramps  had  prepared  and  eaten  breakfast  long 
before  a  whistle  blew  at  the  saw-mill  in  the  town. 

When  they  started  to  leave  the  camp  an  elderly  tramp 
said, 

"Better  beat  it  two  and  three  at  a  time.  It  ain't  wise 
to  gang  up  in  these  southern  towns." 

"Nor  any  other  towns,"  replied  the  Lodge  Member. 

When  a  slow  train  left,  four  of  the  men  boarded 
it  and  rode  into  the  yards  at  Memphis.  Emmett  and 
Whitey  were  two  of  the  four. 


PRISON  AND  WORSE 

FROM  Memphis  they  rode  into  the  most  dreaded  state 
in  the  Union  for  the  vagrant.  Emmett  has  heard  tramps 
argue  half  seriously  as  to  whether  or  not  Mississippi  was 
a  part  of  America.  When  Emmett  was  there  they  had 
a  vagrancy  law  which  was  the  smiling  brother  of  peon 
age.  Officers  were  given  a  reward  of  two  dollars  and 
fifty  cents  for  every  vagrant  captured,  so  Emmett  was 
informed,  and  those  Mississippi  gentlemen  would  run  a 
mile  for  less  than  the  amount  stated. 

Emmett  heard  tales  of  peonage  that  would  make  an 
Egyptian  mummy  weep.  The  Governor  of  the  state  had 
long  hair  and  was  very  religious.  The  fine  chivalry 
of  the  south  does  not  extend  to  her  uninvited  guests,  and 
even  now,  the  soft,  well-modulated  voices  of  Southern 
girls  are  not  enough  to  make  Emmett  forget  the  harsh 
manners  of  Southern  men.  So  vigilant  were  the  men  who 
labored  to  rid  the  state  of  vagrants  that  possibly  not  two 
men  out  of  every  hundred  succeeded  in  riding  through 
it  without  being  captured.  Those  two  were  not  Emmett 
and  Whitey. 

The  peonage  system  originated  in  the  brain  of  some 
human  being  also,  for  surely  a  snake  never  thought  of  it. 
Snakes  seem  rather  indolent  about  exploiting  other  snakes. 

258 


PRISON  AND  WORSE  259 

As  long  as  they  have  a  hole  in  which  to  curl,  and  warm 
ground  to  crawl  over,  they  are  satisfied. 

If  Emmett  were  made  a  God  and  Ruler  of  the  wind 
and  wave,  he  would  demand  that  the  originator  of  the 
peonage  system  be  brought  before  him.  But  the  Lord 
said  that  vengeance  was  His — though  He  has  never  used 
it  on  the  men  who  exploited  human  beings  in  the  south. 
Cultured  people  in  high  places  ate  food  which  the  blood 
stained  hands  of  peonage  victims  gathered.  The  food 
did  not  seem  to  revolt  them.  They  waxed  and  grew 
strong  and  became  Southern  Gentlemen  and  Ladies, — 
and  to  this  day,  Emmett,  the  kindly  disposed  who  would 
share  his  last  dime  with  a  friend,  curses'  each  time  he 
thinks  of  them. 

It  would  be  better  to  skip  thirty-eight  days,  for  Em 
mett  does  not  wish  to  tell  what  happened  within  that  time, 
until  books  are  printed  upon  asbestos  paper.  For  his 
words  would  smolder  and  burst  into  flame  when  the  book 
was  closed.  ...  It  is  a  pleasant  pastime  to  drudge  ten 
hours  a  day,  under  the  eyes  of  an  illiterate,  brutal  keeper, 
with  a  ball  and  chain  upon  each  leg  which  grows  so  heavy 
each  afternoon  that  the  muscles  become  almost  paralyzed 
from  the  weight.  You  are  paid  the  magnificent  sum  of 
twenty  cents  a  day  for  your  labor,  that  is,  your  fine  is 
worked  out  in  that  way,  and  at  that  rate.  Should  you  un 
fortunately  wear  out  a  pair  of  shoes  in  the  meantime — 
for  it  is  said  that  even  shoes  wear  out  in  the  south — 
you  are  charged  four  dollars  for  a  dollar  and  a  quarter 
pair  of  brogans,  and  the  amount  is  very  considerably 
added  to  your  fine,  and  not  taken  from  your  wages.  The 


2<5o  EMMETT  LAWLER 

American  nation  believes  in  thrift,  they  rush  after  dol 
lars,  until  the  ninety  and  nine  million  of  them  lose  track 
of  their  souls — but  this  story  does  not  deal  with  the 
American  nation,  but  Mississippi,  and  the  jailers  tried 
hard  to  see  that  the  -men  were  inculcated  with  the  value  of 
thrift.  It  might  be  added  as  something  of  importance 
here  that  a  contractor,  or  some  person,  high  in  church  and 
state,  as  a  rule,  would  allow  the  county  a  dollar  and  a 
quarter  a  day  for  the  services' of  the  men  whom  they  gave 
the  chance  of  working  out  a  fine  at  twenty  cents  a  day. 
If  a  man  ever  needed  a  suit  of  clothes  and  an  overcoat — 
God  only  knows  how  long  he  would  have  remained.  No 
weak  solution  of  words  can  describe  the  horror  of  the 
peonage  system  upon  a  boy  with  fine  sensibilities.  It  is 
too  subtle  even  for  the  genius  driven  pen  of  Thomas 
Hardy.  To  have  seen  the  broken  hearts  of  boys  that 
would  never  really  mend  again,  was  in  itself  a  punish 
ment. 

Emmett  knew  a  writer  who  went  south  some  years  later 
to  write  about  the  peonage  system,  and  when  Emmett  met 
him,  he  said,  "My  God !  I've  written  the  article  in  tears." 

The  guard  was  fat  and  brutal.  He  was  too'  lazy  to 
brush  a  fly  from  his  nose.  Emmett  had  spirit,  and  he 
hated  men  with  spirit,  so  he  hated  Emmett. 

He  made  him  do  all  the  dirty  tasks  about  the  filthy 
jail.  Physically  and  mentally  he  revolted  from  the 
nauseating  routine.  But  a  convict  beggar  had  to  strangle 
his  soul  morning,  noon  and  night.  Thirty-eight  times 
thirty-eight  days  he  murdered  the  fat  jailer  in  his  heart. 

Freedom  comes  to  the  prisoner  serving  the  longest  sen- 


PRISON  AND  WORSE  261 

tence,  for  even  death  takes  the  life-termer  out  of  the  iron 
cage  at  last,  and  gives  him  rest,  undreamed  of  perhaps, 
through  all  the  crawling  years  to  come. 

Upon  the  evening  of  Emmett's  release,  the  fat  guard 
was  waylaid  in  an  alley,  and  some  unkind  person,  or  per 
sons,  took  his  gun  away  from  him,  and  beat  him  until 
the  lazy  brute  became  energetic  enough  to  wail  for  mercy. 
Men  often  wail  for  mercy  who  have  no  mercy  in  their 
hearts. 

A  husky  hobo-blacksmith  had  been  released  with  Em- 
mett  and  Whitey.  He  had  immense  arms  and  shoulders, 
and  a  chest  in  which  there  was  room  for  much  vengeance. 
Who  whipped  the  guard  cannot  be  recorded  here.  Per 
haps  it  was  Emmett  and  Whitey,  it  may  have  been  the 
strong  blacksmith,  and  perhaps  all  three  accidentally  met 
him.  Hoboes  talk  little  of  such  things. 

The  efficiency  of  the  vagrancy  law  was  its  ability  to 
work  all  the  time.  If  you  were  arrested  for  vagrancy, 
and  had  served  your  sentence  and  had  been  released 
without  money,  you  could  be  re-arrested,  and  often  were, 
ten  miles  from  the  scene  of  the  first  arrest. 

It  was  January,  and  Emmett  and  Whitey  were  hag 
gard  lads,  trying  to  get  out  of  Mississippi.  They  walked 
fifty  miles  in  two  days,  and  begged  food  in  the  negro 
settlements.  As  a  rule,  the  negroes  were  humane.  As 
has  been  said,  "a  fellow  feeling  makes  one  wondrous 
kind." 

On  the  second  day,  a  white  foreman  of  negro  section 
laborers  refused  to  give  the  rovers  a  drink  of  water. 

When  they  crossed  the  state  line  into  the  first  parish 


262  EMMETT  LAWLER 

of  Louisiana,  the  lads  laughed  in  sheer  joy,  and  shook 
their  fists  at  Mississippi.  Not  fat  from  New  Orleans, 
the  boys  were  just  too  late  to  view  a  lynching.  The  black 
man  who  had  pleaded  for  his  life  now  swung  in  the 
wind  at  the  end  of  a  rope,  and  patiently  waited  for  the 
authorities  to  come  and  cut  him  down.  His  body  was 
riddled  with  bullets,  and  his  clothes  were  half  torn  from 
him.  Many  of  the  people,  among  them  children,  had  car 
ried  away  souvenirs  of  the  occasion. 

Some  hours  later  they  reached  New  Orleans. 

The  next  day  they  went  to  the  wharf  and  watched  ships 
from  the  West  Indies  unloading  their  cargoes.  That 
night  they  washed  silverware  in  an  all  night  Bohemian 
restaurant  near  the  St.  Charles  hotel.  On  the  third 
evening  in  the  city,  they  stole  their  way  across  on  a 
ferry  to  Algiers,  where  the  Texas  and  Pacific  would  take 
them  to  Chicago  by  a  route  which  did  not  touch  Missis 
sippi. 

The  road  over  which  the  boys  now  traveled  was  called 
the  "tin  horn,"  and  in  comparison  with  it,  the  Lake  Erie 
and  Western  was  not  only  the  greatest  railroad  in  Ohio, 
but  the  greatest  in  the  world. 

When  darkness  came  they  succeeded  in  entering  an 
empty  box  car  in  the  center  of  what  soon  proved  to  be 
the  slowest  train  then  running  in  the  United  States.  The 
night  was  at  first  sticky  and  muggy,  and  then  the  skies 
cleared  up,  and  it  became  frosty  and  bitterly  cold.  The 
boys  wrapped  newspapers  around  their  legs  and  bodies, 
to  keep  out  the  frost  that  bit  with  tiny  teeth.  With 
coats  over  their  shoulders  they  tried  hard  to  sleep  upon 


PRISON  AND  WORSE  263 

the  dirty  floor.  A  filthy  odor  permeated  the  car,  and  to 
kill  it,  Whitey  smoked  many  cigarettes. 

When  the  train  was  not  on  a  full  stop  on  a  siding,  it 
crept  slowly  along,  and  once  it  started  to  travel  at  about 
fifteen  miles  an  hour  and  something  went  wrong  with  the 
air,  and  it  broke  in  two. 

The  cold  settled  and  gnawed  at  the  marrow  of  Em- 
mett's  bones  with  more  fury  than  ever  it  had  in  the 
north.  He  walked  up  and  down  the  car,  but  it  was  a 
leech  that  clung  to  him  with  icy  tentacles.  He  tired  him 
self  by  going  through  gymnastic  exercises,  but  when 
worn  out,  it  would  creep  upon  him  again  like  the  frost 
upon  a  roof. 

This  kept  up  for  at  least  seven  hours,  and  then  the  train 
stood  still  on  a  siding  so  dreadfully  long  that  Emmett 
thought  that  even  the  engine  and  crew  had  deserted  it. 
He  was  right.  During  a  moment  of  slumber  the  crawling 
train  had  set  the  car  out  on  a  siding  and  had  gone  on. 
Whitey  rubbed  his  eyes  as  they  both  sized  up  the  situation, 
and  said,  "If  we  run  real  fast  we  can  catch  the  damn 
thing." 

"We'll  wait  till  morning*  and  run  and  catch  it,"  was 
Emmett 's  rejoinder.  From  the  open  box  car  door  there 
was  a  pretty  picture.  A  yellow  road  stretched  under  the 
stars  and  moon  between  dark  fields.  At  the  end  of  the 
road  was  a  sugar  mill,  from  which  lights  gleamed.  The 
boys  started  at  once  for  the  mill,  for  they  desired  warmth 
above  everything  else. 

A  negro  foreman  allowed  them  to  sleep  in  a  boiler 
room  the  few  short  hours  that  walked  before  the  dawn. 


264  EMMETT  LAWLER 


There  was  bustle  and  confusion  in  the  early  morning 
as  the  lads  looked  about  the  plantation.  Breakfast  was 
the  immediate  worry,  and  the  overseer  stood  in  the  cen 
ter  of  the  barnyard,  surrounded  by  his  flunkeys. 

He  was  a  large  man,  with  leather  leggings,  and  a  large 
white  hat.  He  carried  a  long  blacksnake  whip  in  his  hand. 
The  boys  walked  toward  him,  and  Emmett  asked  for  work 
upon  the  plantation,  hoping,  of  course,  that  he  would 
be  given  food  rather  than  work.  The  overseer's  appear 
ance  was  none  too  inviting. 

"You  all  don't  want  wo'k  heah,  this  is  niggah's  wo'k." 
Emmett  was  glad  he  wished  to  uphold  the  honor  of  his 
race,  and  with  the  meal  in  mind  he  chatted  with  the 
overseer.  That  worthy  read  the  boys  a  lecture  on  the  art 
of  becoming  successful  men.  But  it  was  the  mobs'  idea 
of  success-— that  is,  working  a  lifetime  for  a  pittance,  and 
saving  a  pittance  of  that  pittance. 

"Look  at  me,"  said  the  overseer,  "I  have  been  heah 
twenty-seven  yeahs,  my  hands  all  broke  from  hittin'  nig- 
gahs."  He  pitied  himself  as  he  looked  at  the  gnarled 
hands.  Just  then  a  negro  rode  near  him.  Two  mules 
were  hitched  to  a  cart,  one  mule  in  front  of  the  other, 
while  the  negro  was  seated  on  the  animal  near  the  cart. 

"Bettah  git  a  new  bridle  for  that  mule,  Zeke.  Youh 
a  pooh  niggah  youh  kain't  steal  a  bridle  for  that  mule." 

Emmett  tried  to  guide  the  conversational  canoe  into 
the  harbor  of  reality  where  people  served  breakfast.  But 
eating  had  apparently  nothing  to  do  with  the  overseer's 
scheme  of  things.  Finally  Emmett  asked  what  the 
chances  were  to  get  a  meal.  The  overseer  parleyed  the 


PRISON  AND  WORSE  265 

question,  as  the  boys  had  been  good  listeners,  and  agreed 
with  all  he  had  said,  like  society  women  talking  to  a 
bishop.  The  overseer  commanded,  "Go  ovah  yon,  and 
see  the  cook,  and  if  it's  all  right  with  her — go  eat." 

The  cook  was  as  big  as  Aunt  Nancy,  and  she  was  as 
kind  as  she  was  big.  But  Emmett  did  not  know  how  kind 
she  was  at  first,  so  he  took  no  chances.  He  told  her 
that  the  overseer  had  sent  them.  After  they  were  eating 
he  told  her  the  truth,  and  she  laughingly  told  him,  "That 
ain't  no  dif'rence,  I'd  a'fed  you  nohow." 

After  the  meal  the  boys  walked  down  the  yellow  road 
with  gratitude  for  the  cook  and  smiles  for  the  overseer. 


A  HOBO  FIGHT 

THE  rovers  reached  A ,  Louisiana,  in  a  cold, 

drizzling  rain.  There  they  met  an  ex-convict  from 
Shreveport,  who  had  a  quart  of  moonshine  whisky.  It 
was  strong  enough  to  pull  a  train,  and  it  pulled  the  boys 
from  themselves  and  the  miserably  wretched  day.  The 
ex-convict  was  as  rough  as  the  bark  of  an  old  oak  tree, 
and  he  wore  a  red  sweater,  the  neck  of  which  touched 
his  ears.  His  trousers  almost  touched  the  tops  of  his 
shoes.  His  jaw  was  immensely  broad,  and  his  forehead 
extremely  low,  and  he  wore  a  cap  which  was  a  size  too 
small  for  his  head.  He  was  plentifully  supplied  with 
money,  and  a  surprising  knowledge  of  the  underworld 
lurked  beneath  his  forehead. 

There  was  a  saloon  in  which  the  riff-raff  of  the  under 
world  would  gather  as  they  passed  through  the  city.  In 
the  rear  of  this  saloon  was  an  immense  room  in  which  the 
tramps  slept  off  the  fumes  of  wretched  liquor  that  be 
numbed  their  brains.  Emmett,  Whitey,  and  the  ex-con 
vict  entered  this  room  without  a  match  in  their  pockets. 
Men  were  stretched  about  in  every  direction,  and  they 
grunted  and  snored  like  hogs  in  a  pen.  Emmett  had  al 
ways  been  a  fastidious  young  hobo.  He  would  miss  a 
train  in  order  to  bathe  if  he  had  a  chance,  and1  if  his 

266 


A  HOBO  FIGHT  267 

clothes  became  infected  with  vermin,  he  would  throw 
them  away  and  obtain  others.  The  three  revelers  walked 
across  men's  bodies  and  scraped  their  feet  across  their 
faces.  Newspapers  rattled  as  the  men  rolled  over,  for 
the  floor  was  covered  with  them.  Many  tramps  try 
hard  to  cling  to  the  last  remnant  of  cleanliness,  and 
though,  in  most  cases,  their  clothes  were  as  soiled  as 
the  floor,  still  they  spread  the  papers  beneath  them. 

In  the  rear  of  the  saloon  was  a  yard  in  which  the  men 
"jungled  up,"  and  the  next  morning  many  of  them  cooked 
breakfast  there.  They  used  rotgut  whisky  instead  of 
coffee  after  the  meal.  The  atmosphere  was  fetid,  and 
Emmett  was  anxious  to  be  gone,  but  the  ex-convict  started 
a  crap  game  with  malicious  intent.  Emmett  did  not 
know  dice,  as  he  never  played,  but  Whitey  was  no 
stranger  to  the  game.  As  it  progressed,  he  was  as  im 
patient  as  a  thoroughbred  at  a  race  track,  but  he  had  no 
money,  and  Emmett's  ten  dollars  had  been  spent.  Whitey 
watched  the  ex-convict  raking  up  the  silver,  until  he  could 
stand  it  no  longer,  then  he  called  him  aside  and  whis 
pered,  "Stake  me  to  a  starter,  I'm  on." 

"All  right,  kid,"  was  the  reply,  as  he  handed  him  two 
one-dollar  bills.  Between  Whitey  and  the  ex-convict  they 
quickly  broke  the  game.  No  one  in  the  crowd  had  eyes 
keen  enough  to  detect  them  shifting  the  loaded  and  the 
real  dice.  Whitey  still  had  five  dollars  after  he  paid  the 
ex-convict.  After  the  game  Whitey  shared  his  winnings 
evenly  with  Emmett.  Men  breaking  the  bank  at  Monte 
Carlo  felt  no  wealthier  than  they. 

All  was  not  over,  however.    Tramps  do  not  lose  what 


268  EMMETT  LAWLER 

little  money  they  have  very  cheerfully.  One  husky  fel 
low  had  not  detected  trickery,  though  he  surmised  it,  as 
any  man  should,  after  seeing  the  ex-convict. 

"Hey,  Bloke,  you  can't  put  that  over  on  us;  come, 
divvy  up,"  called  out  the  husky  individual  of  the  ex- 
convict. 

"What  y'u  mean,  divvy  up?  You  lost  square.  I  ain't 
a  crook.  Come  an*  git  your  dough,  if  you  think  so,"  he 
cried. 

They  started  toward  him  without  another  word. 

Biff-bing-bang !  the  long  arms  of  the  ex-convict  shot 
out — and  instantly  he  was  engaged  in  what  came  near 
being  mortal  combat.  Three  men  faced  him,  while  an 
other  sneaked  behind  with  a  skillet.  Whitey  stood  against 
the  fence  before  two  others.  Emmett,  the  more  or  less 
innocent  bystander,  was  impelled  to  take  action. 

"Get  against  the  fence,"  he  yelled  to  the  ex-convict, 
"so's  they  can't  sneak  behind  you."  The  convict  whirled, 
the  men  after  him.  He  made  the  fence  near  Whitey. 
The  skillet  crashed  at  Emmett's  head,  he  dodged,  and  it 
struck  his  shoulder  a  glancing  blow.  Then  more  battle 
started.  Fists  crashed  in  all  directions,  and  in  a  thrice, 
the  wielder  of  the  skillet  was  down  and  out,  moaning,  the 
skillet  clattering  against  a  wash  boiler  on  the  ground. 

Some  tramps  left  by  the  gate,  some  watched  the  fracas 
for  a  while,  and  eight  mixed  into  it.  The  ex-convict  had 
knocked  two  out,  Emmett  another.  Five  men  were  left 
against  a  man  and  two  boys. 

The  ex-convict,  sweater  ripped  from  his  body,  was 


A  HOBO  FIGHT  269 

fighting  the  husky  tramp,  and  two  others.  Emmett's 
red  head  bobbed  between  the  two  roughnecks  attacking 
Whitey.  He  screamed,  "I'll  battle  'em.  You  kick  'em 
in  the  shins,  you're  no  damn  good  with  your  hands."  The 
two  men  made  vicious  swings  at  Emmett,  he  ducked,  and 
their  fists  crashed  against  the  wooden  fence.  He  sparred, 
they  rushed  like  bulls,  their  fists  slamming  against  the 
fence  again. 

"What  the  hell'd  that  fence  ever  do  to  you  guys?" 
snapped  Emmett.  His  right  hand  found  one  tramp's 
eye  and  it  became  a  black  and  swollen  thing.  Emmett 
thought,  "I'll  soak  him  in  the  other  eye  and  blind  him!" 
Whitey  kicked  at  their  shins,  and  as  one  tramp  stopped 
to  rub  the  injured  parts,  Emmett  saw  him  with,  hands 
down,  and  Irish  fists  crashed  against  a  bewhiskered  face, 
and  in  a  flash,  the  tramp  was  on  the  ground,  jaws  sag 
ging,  eyes  glassy,  forgetful  of  bruised  shins  and  crap 
games.  It  was  lightning  thinking.  "Hey,  hey,"  shrieked 
Emmett.  "Lord,  don't  kill  him  with  that  club."  The 
terrified  tramp  looked  around  and  ducked  an  imaginary 
club.  Whitey  kicked  him  in  a  vital  spot,  Emmett  smashed 
a  left  into  his  unguarded  jaw.  The  curtains  came  down 
for  him. 

The  ex-convict  was  fighting  with  a  valor  worthy  of 
a  nobler  man  in  a  nobler  cause. 

Face  bleeding,  one  eye  partly  closed,  he  smiled  faintly 
as  Emmett  yelled,  "Here  comes  the  Irish."  Then  Em 
mett,  running,  turned  to  Whitey.  "Busy  with  the  hob 
nails,  Whitey.  Kick  'em  in  the  old  shins."  The  Jewish 


270  EMMETT  LAWLER 

private  obeyed  the  Irish  sergeant.  The  third  tramp 
screeched,  "Ouch,  ouch!"  while  Whitey  kicked.  Emmett 
was  a  cool  fighting  demon  with  tangled  head  of  fire. 

"Beat  it,  you  bum,  or  well  cook  you  for  dinner,"  he 
sneered. 

"I'm  tough  meat,  you  red-headed  crook." 

"Well,  we'll  make  the  water  hot  enough  to  boil  you, 
and  my  teeth  are  strong."  As  Emmett  engaged  in  battle 
again  he  shouted  to  Whitey,  "Kick  the  husky  guy,  I'll 
peel  this  potato."  Then  followed  several  moments  of 
grueling  torture.  The  tramp  knew  how  to  fight,  and  Em 
mett  was  forced  to  the  limit,  and  used  every  trick  in  his 
bag,  for  the  tramp  settled  down  to  the  deadly  routine  of 
fighting.  Luckily  for  Emmett,  the  tramp  bumped  into 
a  hard  swing,  and  went  to  his  knees,  but  not  before  he 
made  Emmett  see  all  the  stars  in  heaven. 

The  unbeaten  rascal  took  Emmett's  wrist  in  his  mouth 
and  bit  it  with  uneven  teeth.  Emmett's  thumb  found  the 
tramp's  eyes.  "Let  go,  Doggie,  or  out  comes  your  eye  like 
a  grape,"  he  commanded.  The  teeth  sank  into  Emmett's 
flesh,  and  Emmett's  thumb  pressed  harder  and  harder. 
Finally,  the  tramp  released  his  jaws,  and  before  he  could 
arise,  he  was  stunned,  battered  and  bleeding  upon  the 
ground.  Whitey  and  the  ex-convict  were  fighting  the  re 
maining  two. 

The  fat  saloonkeeper  rushed  out,  sized  up  the  situation, 
and  started  as  if  for  a  gun.  The  ex-convict  rushed  at  him, 
and  thudded  his  fists  against  the  beer-keg  belly  like  a 
drum.  His  breath  rushed  out  fast,  like  the  wind  out  of  a 
bellows.  He  sank  to  slumber  with  his  wet  white  apron 


A  HOBO  FIGHT  271 

twisted  around  his  legs.     "Oh,  oh!"  he  moaned,  and 
rolled  over  on  his  injured  belly  and  lay  still. 

The  second  last  tramp  at  once  thought  of  an  engage 
ment  elsewhere. 

The  husky  individual  was  no  match  for  the  ex-convict, 
whose  muscles  could  be  seen  moving  beneath  his  shredded 
sweater. 

"Let's  make  a  quick  finish  and  beat  it,  before  we're 
pinched,"  Emmett  gasped  to  Whitey.  They  closed  in, 
fighting  hard,  and  in  an  instant  the  husky  chap  was 
whipped.  The  back 'yard  looked  as  though  chaos  had 
hit  it. 

The  three  hurried  down  the  street,  and  Emmett  said- 
"Lord,  Whitey,  if  you  could  fight  with  your  hands  like 
you  can  talk  with  'em,  you'd  be  a  regular  Jim  Corbett." 
The  ex-convict  laughed  and  said,  "But  you're  a  battler, 
Red.  Where'd  you  learn  to  be  so  rough  ?" 

"It's  a  gift,"  replied  Emmett. 

"You'd  make  a  pip  in  the  ring,  with  a  gift  like  that," 
was  the  ex-convict's  comment. 

They  repaired  to  a  smudgy  Chinese  restaurant,  and 
drank  moonshine  liquor  and  ate  Chop  Suey  until  the  echo 
of  the  battle  had  died  away  in  the  town.  The  ex-convict 
looked  at  his  bruised  eye  and  exclaimed,  "That  yegg 
hung  a  nice  shiner  on  me." 

"It  was  a  danged  hard  fight  for  the  five  bucks  we  got 
out  of  it,"  returned  Emmett. 

"Well,"  suggested  the  ex-convict,  "if  I  give  you  another 
buck  apiece,  and  pay  the  Chink  for  the  damage  to  grub 
and  booze,  will  it  be  O.  K.  ?" 


272  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"It's  country  gravy  with  us,"  replied  Emmett. 

They  bade  the  dispenser  of  strange  justice  farewell 
and  left  him  with  his  ill-gotten  gain,  and  brain  muddled 
with  whisky. 


THE  LURE  OF  HOME 

THEY  were  soon  on  their  way.  They  were  not  penniless 
again  until  they  left  Little  Rock,  but  they  were  now  in 
touch  with  fast  trains  which  ran  on  real  railroads. — Chi 
cago,  about  eight  hundred  miles  away,  was  a  matter  of  a 
couple  of  nights,  providing  they  could  stand  the  cold. 

They  reached  St.  Louis  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  after 
a  wild  and  continuous  daredevil  ride  from  Little  Rock 
over  the  Iron  Mountain  road.  It  was  a  thrill  for  tired 
bodies  to  ride  again  roaring  fast  trains,  after  the  slow 
trains  from  New  Orleans  to  Little  Rock.  The  night 
was  cold,  but  it  was  overlooked  in  the  boys'  excitement  at 
the  nearness  of  their  beloved  Chicago.  They  walked  di 
rectly  into  a  District  Police  Station,  and  asked  to  be  al 
lowed  to  sleep  until  morning.  The  policeman  at  the 
desk  asked,  more  by  way  of  kindness  than  anything  else, 
"On  the  bum-,  kids?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Whitey,  "we're  on  it  hard." 

"Where've  you  been?"  was  the  next  question. 

"Daown  saouth,"  grinned  Whitey.  "They  slipped  us 
thirty-eight  days  in  the  can  in  old  Mississippi." 

A  dapper  young  policeman  entered  and  looked  at  Em- 
mett.  "Pipe  the  kid  with  the  henna-colored  hair,"  he  said 
to  the  desk  sergeant.  Then  turning  to  Emmett  he  asked, 

273 


274  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"Why  don't  you  let  your  hair  grow  about  two  feet  and 
sell  it  to  some  baldheaded  actress?  You  could  get  some 
dough  for  it." 

"Where  the  devil  would  I  stay,"  asked  Emmett,  "while 
it  grew  long?" 

"In  jail,"  was  the  laconic  reply  of  the  policeman. 

"No  chance!  Another  dream  all  busted  to  hell,"  said 
Emmett.  The  young  policeman  led  the  boys  to  an  empty 
cell,  but  did  not  lock  the  door.  He  bade  the  boys  good 
night,  and  went  whistling  down  the  corridor,  with  a  wil 
derness  of  iron  bars  all  about  him. 

The  next  morning  a  Lieutenant  of  Police  handed  Em 
mett  a  card  upon  which  an  address  was  written.  They 
were  to  go  there  and  obtain  breakfast.  "Nothing  wrong 
at  all,  no  frame  up,  you'll  be  treated  right,"  said  the  Lieu 
tenant. 

It  was  a  residence  district,  and  a  woman  opened  the 
door  and  greeted  them  with  a  smile.  Emmett  handed  her 
the  card,  and  she  led  them  to  the  back  yard,  showed  them 
a  ton  of  coal  which  she  wished  carried  into  the  cellar. 

The  boys  pitched  in,  each  taking  a  bushel  basket,  and 
in  no  time  the  coal  was  in  its  proper  place.  On  the  com 
pletion  of  the  task,  they  were  treated  to  a  delicious  meal 
of  ham  and  eggs,  potatoes,  rolls,  and  coffee.  The  meal 
was  plentiful  and  well  cooked,  and  Emmett  remembers 
the  coffee  to  this  day. 

"Slip  me  your  ham,  Whitey,  it's  a  sin  for  you  to  eat 
pork." 

"I  would,  but  this  is  Friday,  and  the  Irish  don't  eat 
meat  to-day." 


THE  LURE  OF  HOME  273 

"A  hobo  should  eat  meat  when  he  gets  a  chance,"  said 
Emmett,  "he's  a  boob  if  he  doesn't." 

"Well,  you  never  saw  a  Jew  Boob,"  said  Whitey  as 
he  tackled  the  ham. 

While  they  were  eating  the  Lieutenant  of  Police  en 
tered  the  kitchen  and  smiled.  "Eat  your  heads  off,  kids, 
you're  on  the  square."  He  gave  them  twenty-five  cents 
each,  and  the  boys,  bidding  policeman  and  wife  good  luck, 
soon  left. 

They  reached  a  small  city  in  central  Illinois  by  the  fol 
lowing  midnight,  where,  growing  careless  and  loitering 
in  the  warm  depot,  they  allowed  themselves  to  be  ar 
rested  by  a  night  policeman,  whom  Emmett  thought  was 
slightly  under  the  influence  of  liquor. 

Emmett  pleaded  for  freedom  as  though  life  depended 
on  the  outcome,  and  Chicago  was  very  near.  The  police 
man  had  the  tipsy  notion  that  he  was  arresting  two  des 
perate  criminals.  The  cells  must  have  been  occupied,  as 
he  took  them  to  a  large  room,  which  had  bars  at  the  one 
window,  and  four  dirty  walls  and  a  bare  floor.  They 
slept  part  of  the  night  upon  the  floor,  until  the  foot  of 
the  policeman  pushed  Emmett's  side  and  awakened  him. 

"You  kids  got  time  to  ketch  the  Banner  Blue  Limited 
if  you  wantta."  Emmett  awoke  Whitey  with  scant  cere 
mony,  both  thanked  the  policeman  and  hurried  to  the 
depot. 

The  coaches  were  white  with  frost,  and  icicles  hung 
below  the  water  tank  of  the  engine  as  it  stood  panting 
upon  the  rails  as  though  anxious  to  fly  from  the  cold. 
The  lads  could  not  have  stood  the  terrible  ordeal,  if 


276  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Chicago  had  not  been  at  the  end  of  the  road.  Napoleon's 
freezing  soldiers  upon  the  steppes  of  Russia  did  not  en 
dure  much  more  than  the  two  youngsters  this  night. 

They  held  to  the  iron  ladders  until  their  very  blood 
congealed,  and  ran  like  thick  molasses.  Their  hearts  kept 
pounding  the  congealed  blood  back  and  forth,  and  the 
terrible  strain  of  the  night  brought  frozen  tears  upon 
their  cheeks. 

"This  is  hell,"  said  Whitey.    "My  God!  it's  hell/' 
"But  let's  stick  it  out,  Whitey,  if  they  haul  us  in  there 
dead." 

"Sure,"  replied  the  Jewish  lad,  "I'm  game." 
Lashed  to  the  iron  ladders,  the  children  of  two  suffer 
ing  races  were  equal  to  the  misery  of  the  ride.  The  cold 
settled  down  heavily.  In  order  to  keep  from  freezing 
they  kicked  their  feet  against  the  iron  ladders,  and  moved 
their  shoulders  like  pugilists  loosening  up  their  muscles 
before  a  battle. 

On,  on,  the  train  sped,  past  prairie,  hamlets,  and  snow- 
white  fields.    Emmett  recalled  the  tramp  he  had  known, 
who  rode  into  a  station  with  hands  clutched  about  the  iron 
ladder,  an  empty  whisky  bottle  in  his  pocket,  and  a  frozen 
leer  upon  his  face.    His  body  was  stiff  and  cold,  and  it 
never  thawed  back  into  life.     The  recollection  stirred 
Emmett,  and  he  yelled  to  Whitey, 
"Remember  Freddie  Mansfield?" 
"I  was  just  thinkin'  about  him,  poor  devil!"  replied 
Whitey. 

When  the  train  reached  the  station  in  Chicago,  the  boys 


THE  LiURE  OF  HOME  277 

were  too  numb  to  walk  at  first,  then  slowly  made  their 
way  to  the  station,  and  out  into  the  street  and  across  to 
a  friendly  saloon,  where  warm  water  and  soap,  and  warm 
liquor  revived  them. 


BATTLE  GALORE 

A  FAMOUS  prize  fight  was  to  take  place  within  five  blocks 
of  the  Newsboys*  Home.  Through  a  friend  of  Vivian's 
who  had  but  recently  returned  from  Cuba,  Emmett  was 
engaged  as  an  usher,  and  was  to  receive  two  dollars  for 
his  work,  and  a  chance  to  see  the  fight. 

The  building  was  packed,  and  the  loud  murmur  of 
voices  rolled  over  the  huge  enclosure.  Another  usher  told 
Emmett  that  one  of  the  fighters  engaged  for  the  semi- 
windup  had  taken  sick  and  could  not  go  on.  "He's  yel 
low,  I  guess.  None  of  Jem  like  Blinky  Ryan's  game. 
Why  don't  you  take  a  chance,  Red,  there's  around  a  hun 
dred  iron  men  in  it?" 

"Sure,  I'll  take  a  chance.  I'd  fight  McGovern  for  less 
than  a  hundred ;  ninety  dollars  less." 

The  usher  hurried  to  the  matchmaker  with  Emmett. 
That  worthy  sized  him  up  with  beady  eye  on  each  side  of 
a  large,  hooked  nose. 

"Ever  been  in  the  ring  before?"  he  snapped. 

"Yes,  I  fought  all  through  the  south,"  replied  Emmett. 

"Well,  slip  into  that  dressin'  room;  and  remember,  no 
dough  if  you  stall.  I'll  send  Spike  Robinson  to  second 
you." 

Emmett  stripped  clean,  and  the  newly  arrived  Robinson 
rubbed  with  vigor  his  strong  white  body. 

278 


BATTLE  GALORE  279 

"Think  you  can  go  the  route  with  Blinky?     He's  a 
hard-boiled  egg." 

"I  like  hard-boiled  eggs,"  was  Emmett's  reply. 
The  crowd  had  grown  impatient  from  waiting  for  the 
fight,  and  when  Blinky  Ryan  walked  down  the  aisle  there 
was  a  great  cheer,  and  Emmett  received  the  same  ovation 
a  minute  later.  The  cheering  was  not  exactly  for  the 
fighters,  but  in  joyful  anticipation  of  the  prospect  of  see 
ing  them  batter  each  other. 

As  Emmett  sat  in  one  corner  of  the  ring,  he  wondered 
where  in  the  world  Blinky  had  found  the  name  of  Ryan, 
for  he  was  more  Italian  than  the  Mayor  of  Rome.  A 
fat  man  at  the  ringside  yelled,  as  he  looked  at  Emmett, 
"Twenty  bucks  on  the  red-head,"  and  he  waved  the  money 
above  his  head.  The  referee  called  the  fighters  to  the 
center  of  the  ring,  and  the  stolid  Blinky  scowled  at  Em 
mett.  "It's  hit  with  one  arm  free  in  the  clinches,  and 
break  when  I  tell  you,  see !"  The  fighters  nodded  their 
heads.  Before  the  gong  rang  Emmett  thought  of  the 
fighting  chainmaker,  Danny  McCall.  He  could  hear 
Danny  say,  "They  can't  hurt  you,  kid,  you  got  every 
thing."  And  then  the  gong  clanged.  .  .  . 

Blinky  came  out  of  his  corner  with  a  rush,  as  though 
he  wished  to  have  the  unpleasant  affair  over  as  soon  as 
possible.  Emmett  was  in  no  such  hurry,  and  sidestepped 
his  fellow  bruiser,  then  moved  his  shoulders,  and  smiled, 
showing  a  row  of  white  teeth.  The  enraged  Blinky 
sneered  as  he  saw  the  smile. 

"I  knock  Jem  down  your  t'roat,"  he  muttered  under 
his  breath. 


28o  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"The  water's  free,  wade  in!"  retorted  Emmett. 

Blinky  did  wade  in,  and  his  gloved  hands  flew  in  every 
direction  like  birds  with  leather  wings.  Under  the  rain 
of  blows  Emmett  Lawler  was  born  again,  and  his  mighty 
uncle  stood  at  the  christening. 

Jaded  men  stood  up  and  screamed,  "God  Almighty! 
What  a  fight !  Lordy !  Lordy !  Lordy !"  Everything  but 
the  lust  of  battle  blood-raw  had  gone  from  Emmett's 
soul.  His  jaws  were  clamped  tight,  and  his  eyes  never 
left  the  Italian's  olive  body.  He  crouched  low,  his  shoul 
der  and  arm  muscles  bulging.  He  kept  on  the  defensive, 
but  each  time  the  Italian  charged,  Emmett  made  him 
cover  under  the  relentless  fusillade  of  blows  meted  out 
to  him.  The  gong  sounded  and  ended  the  first  three- 
minute  round. 

Spike  Robinson  rubbed  Emmett's  stomach,  and  allowed 
him  to  suck  a  piece  of  lemon.  "You're  a  battlin'  fool, 
kid,  but  watch  his  right — it's  bedtime  if  it  lands."  Spike 
Robinson  was  wise  in  the  ways  of  the  ring,  and  he  would 
have  been  a  champion  years  before  had  he  not  flour 
ished  when  a  dozen  men  were  almost  the  equal  of  Jack 
McAulifFe.  He  whispered  as  kindly  as  a  mother  in  Em 
mett's  ear,  as  he  leaned  his  hand  on  the  strong  muscle 
of  the  boy's  arm  near  his  shoulder,  "Keep  your  jaw 
covered,  and  fight  him  off  his  feet."  The  gong ! 

Emmett  did  the  rushing  this  time,  and  the  impact  of 
his  fast-moving  body  confused  Ryan,  and  he  fell  into  a 
clinch.  "Let's  slug,  Wop !  You're  a  rough  egg,  but  I'll 
break  your  shell,"  flashed  Emmett.  It  was  anybody's  fight 


BATTLE  GALORE  281 

that  round,  and  the  referee  was  himself  hit  in  the  jaw 
by  a  flying  glove.  The  third,  fourth,  and  fifth  round 
came,  and  there  was  only  one  round  left  to  go — if  a  knock 
out  did  not  come.  Enimett  was  not  conscious  of  a  thing 
but  the  well-built  bruiser  in  the  ring  with  him.  To 
see  his  muscles  crawl  as  he  moved  about  upon  the  can 
vas  floor  was  enough  to  make  the  gamest  fighter  serious 
— and  it  was  Emmett's  first  time  out. 

Spike  Robinson  had  studied  the  fight  as  a  scientist 
would  study  a  star.  "Play  for  his  belly,  kid,  slam  his 
kidneys  on  the  infight,  then  step  back  and  break  his  jaw 
with  your  right.  He's  the  best  boy  in  Chi-town — and  you 
can  lick  him,  sure  as  the  devil  you  can." 

There  was  a  half  minute  of  furious  fighting,  and  Em 
mett's  white  body  had  turned  red  and  raw.  A  cut  to  the 
bone  was  above  his  right  eye,  but  he  barely  felt  the  burn 
ing  caustic  that  stopped  the  flow  between  the  rounds. 

When  they  worked  in  close  Emmett  ripped  a  terrific 
right  and  left  to  Blinky's  stomach,  and  the  wind  came 
out  of  his  mouth  in  a  gasp,  and  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second  his  arms  dropped,  and  his  chin  lay  upon  Emmett's 
shoulder.  Emmett  stepped  back  quicker  than  the  referee 
could  have  counted  one — two.  A  left  and  right  blood 
and  water  soaked  glove  thudded  with  terrible  force 
against  Blinky's  unprotected  jaws.  He  fell,  as  a  tree 
falls — with  a  crash.  He  moved  till  the  count  of  three,  his 
eyes  then  closed,  his  arms  stretched  out,  also  his  legs, 
and  he  lay  upon  the  canvas  floor  in  a  crucified  position. 

Enimett  watched,  tense,  like  a  tiger.     Then,  after  the 


282  EMMETT  LAWLER 

count  of  ten,  the  Irish  lad  knelt  down  and  placed  his 
gloved  hand  under  his  beaten  foe's  head,  until  his  sec 
onds  came. 

Spike  Robinson  rushed  in,  threw  a  heavy  bath  towel 
around  Emmett's  shoulders,  and  amid  wild  uproar,  half 
pushed,  and  half  carried  Emmett  from  the  ring.  "Don't 
mind  their  cheerin',  kid,  they  always  cheer  a  winner.  Re 
member  that!" 

The  Sporting  Writer  on  the  Chicago  Tribune  called 
Emmett  the  most  sensational  young  fighter  that  it  had 
been  his  happy  privilege  to  witness.  The  Sporting  Writer 
had  been  the  referee  at  Carson  City  when  the  wonderful 
Corbett  had  been  laid  low  by  a  solar  plexus  blow  from 
the  equally  wonderful  Fitzsimmons. 

"He  fights,"  wrote  the  Sporting  Writer,  "like  a  cham 
pion.  Young  Lawler  will  bear  watching." 

Match  after  match  followed.  Emmett  wore  diamonds, 
and  bought  them  for  others.  He  knew  all  the  varied 
people  a  fighter  knows,  who  fights  main  bouts,  and  earns 
from  a  thousand  to  five  thousand  dollars  in  half  an 
hour  of  fighting. 

The  next  two  years  he  seldom  read  anything  but  the 
Police  Gazette  and  the  Sporting  Pages  of  newspapers. 
He  lived  in  a  world  devoid  of  thought  and  fine  feeling. 


EMMETT  TURNS  POET 

VIVIAN  was  the  one  woman  in  his  life  who  had  any 
influence  for  good  upon  him.  "Emmett,"  she  had  said, 
"you  need  me  now  just  as  much  as  when  we  were  hungry 
together."  She  encouraged  him  to  write,  but  save  some 
rollicking  verses  for  her  amusement,  he  wrote  but  little. 
He  gave  her  two  verses  which  he  had  written  about  John 
Keats,  and  she,  without  Emmett's  knowledge,  sent  them 
to  Ted  Robinson,  the  Column  Conductor  of  the  Cleve 
land  Plain-Dealer.  The  girl  waited  patiently,  hoping  the 
verses  would  appear.  At  last,  she  saw  them  at  the  head 
of  his  Column,  with  the  note : 

It  is  only  once  in  a  blue  moon  that  any  writer  sends  us  a  real 
poem.  When  such  a  thing  happens  we  are  happy.  Here  follows 
the  poem : 

ON  KEATS  GRAVE 

Earth  wearied  nature  beneath  this  lonely  stone, 
Sleeping  ever  so  sound, 
Great  hearted  dreamer  left  to  dream  alone 
In  sacred  ground. 

Storm  beaten  soul  that  vainly  clutched  through  life, 
At  high  ideal ;  how  blissful  it  must  seem, 
To  leave  the  burden  of  stupendous  strife, 
For  one  long  dream. 

283 


284  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Emmett  was  more  pleased  to  read  the  published  verses 
and  Ted  Robinson's  comment  than  if  he  had  won  a  great 
victory  in  the  ring.  But  to  be  contrary,  he  sneerin'gly 
remarked  to  Vivian, 

"Battling  Nelson  never  became  champion  writing  stuff 
like  that." 

"Why,  you  should  be  ashamed,  Emmett.  When  you 
were  broke1  and  hungry,  you  used  to  be  so  interesting. 
Why,  I  broke  dates  to  be  with  you.  I  don't  know  much 
about  writers,  but  they  can't  be  as  dumb  as  the  fighters  I 
know." 

The  words  cut  Emmett,  and  after  this  meeting,  there 
followed  a  period  of  mental  depression  in  which  a  des 
perate  battle  waged  in  Emmett's  heart  and  brain.  Blinky 
Ryan  had  kept  on  fighting  and  had  wiped  out  the  stigma 
of  his  defeat  by  Emmett.  He  was  now  a  prosperous  and 
loudly  dressed  Italian,  who  wore  a  diamond  horseshoe 
stick  pin,  and  diamonds  on  the  third  and  fourth  fingers 
of  his  left  hand,  and  another  diamond  on  the  third  finger 
of  his  right  hand.  The  scintillating  jewels  would  have 
furnished  light  for  Blinky  on  a  dark  road.  Emmett  met 
him  in  different  cities,  and  once  they  fought  different 
opponents  in  a  double  main  event  in  Dayton. 

In  the  midst  of  the  mental  fever,  Emmett  accepted  a 
ten-round  match  with  Blinky  in  Indianapolis  and  only 
succeeded  in  obtaining  a  draw  after  Spike  Robinson  had 
goaded  and  stung  him  into  a  desperate  whirlwind  finish 
in  the  last  round.  The  Sporting  Writers  panned  him 
unmercifully.  And  then,  he  reacted  against  the  ring  and 
its  brutality,  and  remained  more  or  less  in  a  drunken 


EMMETT  TURNS  POET  285 

stupor  for  three  weeks.  Vivian  enlisted  the  aid  of  her 
husband,  and  together  they  induced  Emmett  to  accom 
pany  them  to  Hot  Springs. 

Emmett  saw  the  station  in  Little  Rock  about  which  he 
had  loitered,  a  broken  young  vagrant,  a  few  short  years 
before.  At  the  end  of  a  week,  Vivian  and  Ravan  brought 
Spike  Robinson  to  Emmett's  room,  where  he  was  reading 
the  Police  Gazette.  "Hello,  Spike!  the  Gazette  boosts 
you  and  pans  me.  Says  I'm  all  in.  Well,  maybe  they're 
right — but  Ryan  can't  lick  me."  Vivian  walked  across 
the  room  and  looked  at  the  picture  of  a  girl  on  the  ma 
hogany  dresser.  "Why,  Emmett  Lawler,  who  is  this? 
I  never  saw  it  before." 

"Oh,"  replied  Emmett,  "that's  a  picture  of  a  girl  I  used 
to  know  in  Ohio." 

"What  a  beauty!  Is  she  really  that  pretty  now?" 
asked  Vivian. 

"No,  Viv,  she's  probably  not  pretty  now.    She's  dead." 

Rough  ballplayer  and  trainer  looked  at  the  picture  from 
where  they  sat  as  though  incredulous  that  such  a  vivid 
personality  should  now  be  dust.  Emmett's  three  friends 
thought  little  of  the  futility  of  life,  but  a  momentary 
silence  fell  upon  them. 

"Well,"  said  Emmett,  "let's  talk  about  the  weather. 
It  might  be  snowing  at  the  North  Pole." 

"I  had  a  fight  before  I  left  Chicago,"  remarked  Spike. 
"A  guy  said  you  was  yellow,  Emmett.  Said  you  fought 
like  a  champion  one  time,  and  like  a  hunk  o'  cheese  the 
next.  I  smeared  him  on  the  beak.  These  fat  birds  are 
too  fresh,  callin'  guys  yellow."  Spike  smiled,  and  went 


286  EMMETT  LAWLER 

on,  "I  got  some  good  news  for  you,  Emmy,  old  scout. 
I  matched  you  with  Ryan,  a  ten-rounder  here  in  Hot 
Springs  the  tenth,  three  weeks  from  now.  Train  hard 
a  week,  and  you  can  lick  the  Wop  with  your  left  alone. 
All  he  takes  in  the  ring  is  a  pair  of  gloves,  and  his  head's 
a  dumb  bell  that  won't  ring." 

"What's  our  end  of  the  purse?"  asked  Emmett. 

"We  get  a  guarantee  of  six  thousand  berries — win — 
lose,  or  draw.  Not  so  rotten,  eh,  Irish?" 

"No,  but  that  Wop  is  hard  pickings.  He's  got  a  jaw  like 
concrete,  and  every  time  I  fight  him,  my  hands  are  swollen 
for  a  week.  He's  built  like  a  brick  schoolhouse." 

"But  you  made  him  listen  to  birds  singin'  once,  Em 
mett.  Remember !" 

"Yes, — but's  you're  an  old  head,  Spike,  why  is  it 
there's  always  some  fellow  that  seems  born  to  lick  an 
other  fellow?  There's  Young  Corbett — ,  he  dropped 
Terry  McGovern  twice,  and  the  Terrible  Terry  could 
turn  right  around  and  whip  men  that  Corbett  couldn't." 

"He  had  the  hoodoo  sign  on  him,  I  guess,"  answered 
Spike,  "he  made  Terry  cry,  and  told  him  he  couldn't  lick 
a  postage  stamp,  and  when  Terry  told  him  the  champion 
ship  would  do  him  no  good,  Young  Corbett  said,  'I  don't 
care,  I'll  still  get  a  kick  out  of  life,  when  I  walk  down 
the  street  and  people  say,  "There  goes  the  guy  that  licked 
the  Terrible  Terry  McGovern." ' "  Spike  paused  a  mo 
ment,  and  asked,  "But  you  don't  think  Ryan  has  the  hoo 
doo  sign  on  you,  do  you,  Emmett?" 

"Not  yet,"  replied  Emmett. 


A  SNAG  THAT  TORE 

THE  Elks  Convention  was  being  held  in  Hot  Springs, 
and  the  fight  between  Emmett  and  Ryan  was  staged  as 
the  feature  event  of  the  week.  Ever  since  the  night  the 
Italian  had  heard  the  count  of  ten,  with  Emmett  standing 
over  him,  he  had  fought  his  way  back  with  unvarying 
success  and  was  now  considered  one  of  the  stars  of  the 
country.  He  was  stolid  and  brutal,  but  crafty,  cruel,  and 
cunning  in  the  ring.  He  was  dangerous  at  all  times,  and 
he  could  hit  from  any  angle.  He  was  one  of  those  fight 
ers  who  might  step  into  the  ring  with-  the  best  man  of  his 
weight  in  the  world,  and  leave  the  ring  a  winner.  He 
had  fought  two  draws  with  the  Champion  of  the  World, 
and  that  man  had'  said,  "I'd  rather  fight  a  hyena  than  that 
Wop;  he's  dynamite." 

By  laying  him  out  with  a  one-two  punch,  Emmett  had 
sent  his  name  across  the  country,  and  now  he  was — , 
but  wait,  for  people  in  far  cities  waited  for  the  result  of 
the  battle  in  Hot  Springs. 

Ryan  entered  the  ring  followed*  by  three  men  with 
buckets,  towels,  sponges,  while  Emmett  followed  closely 
after  with  the  faithful  Spike  and  Ravan.  Vivian  sat  near 
his  corner,  dressed  in  riding  costume.  No  one  in  the 
audience  thrilled  more  with  the  coming  battle  than  Vivian. 
She  sat  back  in  her  seat  and  watched  the  auburn-haired 
fighter  with  whom  she  had  shared  hunger  and  cold.  It 

287 


288  EMMETT  LAY  ^ 

seemed  like  a  dream  to  her.  The  nonchalant  bruiser  who 
smiled  at  ringsiders  had  been  her  first  real  man  friend; 
the  first  man  who  had  liked  her  for  her  loyal  heart,  and 
not  for  her  sex.  The  many  days  with  him  had  given  her 
the  semblance  of  literary  background,  and  had  made  her 
feel  that  there  were  men  in  the  world  who  wished  women 
to  have  an  equal  right  with  men  in  everything.  As  he 
removed  his  flashy  bathrobe  her  heart  beat  fast  at  the 
picture  he  made.  His  skin  was  a  healthy  white  and  pink, 
and  she  noticed  that  the  muscles  of  his  stomach  stretched 
clear  across  it  in  ridges.  A  man  sitting  near  her  said, 
"A  woman  could  wash  clothes  on  those  ridges."  Muscles 
bulged  over  his  kidneys,  and  she  remembered  that  Em- 
mett  had  explained  to  her  that  constant  battering  over 
those  organs  in  the  close  fighting  would  not  only  turn  the 
flesh  raw,  but  would  weaken  a  pugilist  after  ten  or  fifteen 
rounds,  and  the  kidneys  would  send  their  message  of 
protest  to  the  brain,  and  it  would  become  muddled. 
She  remembered  how  often  he  had  talked  to  her  about 
physiology.  How  she  longed  to  hold  him!  Her  hands 
itched  to  be  upon  his  shoulders,  and  then  the  ring  was 
cleared  and  the  gong  sounded. 

There  followed  three  rounds  of  absolute  brutality. 
Ryan  had  delivered  a  lucky  punch  from  which  Emmett 
never  fully  recovered.  Men  sat  quite  still  and  forgot  to 
cheer  as  Emmett  stood  in  the  center  of  the  ring,  unable 
to  move  his  hands,  and  wept.  When  she  looked  up  at 
the  ring  again,  Emmett  was  crying,  and  pleading  with 
the  referee  to  allow  the  fight  to  continue.  Spike  raved 
at  the  referee  for  stopping  the  fight,  and  then  led  the 


A  SNAG  THAT  TORE  289 

beaten  boy  out  of  the  ring,  and  talked  to  him  as  consol 
ingly  as  a  mother  does  a  hurt  child. 

"Now  you  can  write,"  said  Vivian. 

"Now  I'll  go  to  hell,"  replied  Emmett. 

Spike  rubbed  witch  hazel  upon  Emmett's  body  as  he 
said,  "They  all  have  their  off  nights,  kid,  even  Washing 
ton  met  his  Waterloo  when  Napoleon  licked  him.  Wash 
ington  simply  got  a  hard  one  on  the  chin,  that's  all.  Why 
you  got  a  fortune  in  your  body  yet ;  ain't  he,  Ravan,  ain't 
he,  everybody?" 

"Where's  Vivian?"  asked  the  weary  Emmett.  "Let 
her  come  in,  Ed." 

"Poor  boy,"  said  Vivian,  as  she  entered,  "it  was  a  rough 
night  for  Irish  sailors." 

"Well,  Ireland  ain't  had  a  navy  long,"  said  Spike. 

The  victorious  Ryan  entered  Emmett's  dressing  room. 
He  was  not  unkind,  and  bore  no  malice.  "We  be  even 
now,  Emmett,  one  and  one." 

"But  I  made  you  listen  to  the  birds,  and  you  couldn't 
drop  me,"  replied  Emmett. 

"Dat's  all  right,  dat's  all  right ;  I  go  Memphis  now.  I 
fight  you  ag'in." 

"Good-by,  Wop,"  said  Emmett. 

"By,  by,  Emmett,  better  luck  nex'  time." 

"He's  not  a  bad  fellow,"  said  Spike. 

"No — ,  none  of  the  wops  are  mean  out  of  the  ring. 
He's  got  to  live,  I  dropped  him." 

The  next  day  four  rather  weary  travelers  started  for 
Chicago. 


290  EMMETT  LAWLER 

Something  had  snapped  in  Emmett's  brain.  Ever 
moody,  he  now  became  listless  and  indifferent  to  the  fu 
ture  or  the  past.  The  years  of  reading,  dreaming,  think 
ing,  were  now  calling  loud  to  be  heard.  He  cursed  the 
prize  ring  in  his  heart,  and  the  cheap  element  who  fol 
lowed  it,  but  with  whom  he  had  always  refused  to  asso 
ciate  when  not  in  the  ring. 

He  knew  a  fighter  who  went  crazy  from  being  bat 
tered  on  the  head,  he  knew  another  who  had  died  with 
a  blood  clot  on  his  brain,  and  he  met  other  ex-fighters  in 
every  city,  broken,  dissolute,  battered,  illiterate,  with 
flat  noses  and  cauliflower  ears  that  resembled  putty  stuck 
on  human  heads.  He  heard  their  talk  of  beating  this  man 
and  that — and  he  thought  of  the  monotony  of  training. 
Vivian's  words  returned  to  taunt  him.  He  tried  to  re 
call  any  of  the  fighters  he  knew  who  amounted  to  any 
thing.  James  J.  Corbett  and  Packey  McFarland — yes, 
they  were  possibly  the  exception  that  proved  the  rule. 
They  would  have  been  gentlemen  doing  anything.  The 
whole  thing  was  demoralizing — but  what  would  he  do — 
he  was  not  trained  in  any  particular  line.  He  had  no 
head  for  detail,  nor  heart  for  routine.  He  knew  he 
would  never  make  a  first-class  poet.  Keats  was  dead 
and  gone  at  twenty-six,  and  immortal.  Keats  was  pug 
nacious,  he  remembered.  Emmett  realized  that  he  could 
feel  great  poetry  but  never  express  it.  A  Sporting  Editor 
with  whom  he  talked  told  him  that  a  man  might  learn  to 
write  great  prose  in  twenty  years,  and  the  country  was 
full  of  ordinary  writers.  Perhaps  he  could  learn,  and  be 
the  only  pugilist  who  ever  became  a  successful  writer. 


A  SNAG  THAT  TORE  291 

The  thought  thrilled  him  a  little — but  then,  it  was  a  hard 
mountain  to  climb.  Jack  London  had  made  good,  and  he 
was  a  tramp.  But  ah !  London  had  gone  to  High  School 
and  the  University.  Emmett  was  through  school  and  out 
in  the  world  when  he  was  twelve — that  made  a  difference. 
Oh,  well!  what  made  him  think  he  could  write  anyhow? 
He  could  not  remember  when  he  did  not  wish  to  dabble 
at  writing.  At  the  Orphanage  he  had  always  won  the 
stick  of  candy  for  the  best  composition.  Why  was  he, 
and  why  had  he  always  been  such  an  intellectual  snob 
in  his  heart?  Why  had  he  met  no  woman  who  satisfied 
him  intellectually?  He  had  not  forgotten  the  clever 
girl  who  wired  him  after  a  successful  fight,  "What's 
the  use  of  whipping  the  whole  world  and  ending  up  a 
bartender?"  She  need  not  think  that  had  gone  over  his 
head.  It  had  hit  him  between  the  eyes.  His  nature 
was  craving  intellectual  companionship  more  and  more. 
These  thoughts  bothered  him.  Who  ever  heard  of  a 
pugilist  with  ideals,  anyhow  ?  The  thing  to  do  was  to  get 
the  money  and  bother  about  the  ideals  later  on.  All  the 
husbands  of  the  club  women  did  that.  So  why  should  he 
worry  ? 

The  train  whirled  at  such  a  rate  of  speed  that  smaller 
objects  along  the  track  were  indistinct.  Emmett  leaned 
his  battered  jaw  upon  his  hand  and  gazed  out  of  the 
window.  Where  did  Ryan  land  that  first  punch  ?  Curi 
ously,  he  had  not  the  least  bitterness  for  Ryan. 

If  he  ever  got  in  the  ring  with  Ryan  again — by  God ! 
And  then, — to  hell  with  Ryan,  and  all  the  tribe  of  bruis 
ers  and  gamblers,  and  women  who  liked  fighters  because 


292  EMMETT  LAWLER 

their  ancestors  among  them  had  been  dominated  by  cave 
men.  His  jaws  were  so  sore  that  the  least  sudden  touch 
sent  a  pain  through  his  head  that  tingled  in  his  brain. 

Was  fighting  a  question  of  the  sensibilities  ?  Why  had 
Lord  Byron  bragged  of  his  ability  to  box?  And  what 
about  Theodore  Roosevelt — and  countless  other  brainy 
men  who  liked  to  take  a  whirl  at  fisticuffs.  Given  Em- 
mett's  environment,  they  might  also  have  become  pugilists. 

He  moved  his  face  slightly,  and  his  head  rang  with 
pain.  "Damn  that  Wop  anyhow,"  he  thought.  He  re 
called  that  he  had  never  once  thought  of  poor  Ryan  the 
day  after  he  had  knocked  him  cold.  But  fighters  never 
wanted  sympathy  from  other  fighters.  Fighting  was  like 
life  .  .  .  the  whiners  never  got  beyond  the  preliminary 
class.  Then  he  thought — "I'm  a  fine  egg,  I  am,  shell  all 
cracked." 

Vivian  seated  herself  by  his  side,  as  Ravan  went  to 
the  smoker  with  Spike.  She  placed  her  hand  on  his  shoul 
der  and  said,  "Poor  boy,"  and  Emmett  groaned,  "Bawl 
me  out,  Vivian,  but  for  God's  sake,  don't  pity  me,  I  can't 
stand  affection  now — I'll  slop  over."  Then  he  looked  into 
her  brave  eyes  that  had  seen  so  much,  and  saw  a  film  of 
tears  come  over  them. 

"I  can't  help  it,  Emmett,  you  draw  out  everything  that's 
white  in  me." 

"You  never  met  a  real  fellow,  Vivian,  that's  why  you 
say  that." 

"Don't  kid  yourself,  Emmett — if  the  men  I've  met 
marched  down  Boul'  Mich,  in  old  Chi-town, — they  would 
look  like  Coxey's  army." 


A  SNAG  THAT  TORE  293 

Emmett  looked  at  her  with  renewed  interest.  * 'There 
are  times,  Vivian,  that  I  need  you  a  great  deal.  We  were 
both  robbed  of  something,  and  sometimes  I  think  that 
you  had  the  worst  deal  of  the  two.  You  had  a  home 
where  hate  and  hunger  lived,  and  you  scrubbed  floors  till 
your  back  ached — but  here  in  this  Pullman,  one  would 
think  you  were  born  on  the  North  Shore  Drive." 

"Do  you  believe  in — what  do  you  call  that — about  other 
souls  being  in  us?" 

"Reincarnation  ?" 

"That's  it — I  heard  a  gink  talk  about  it  one  night. 
Some  teacher,  out  for  a  good  time,  he  wore  men's  pants 
and  everything." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  replied  the  bruiser,  "I  just  know  enough 
not  to  know  what  I  believe.  If  there  is  a  hereafter,  why 
don't  people  talk  to  us  from  over  there  ?" 

"Maybe  they  do,"  mused  Vivian,  "and  we  can't  hear 
them." 

As  the  train  left  Joliet,  the  Penitentiary  could  be  seen 
near  the  track.  "I  know  a  fellow  doing  all  of  it  here," 
said  Vivian.  "I've  been  to  see  him  quite  often  on  Vis 
itor's  Day.  He's  not  much  more  than  a  kid  now.  He 
had  a  wild  woman  who  was  nuts  about  clothes,  and  he 
got  full  of  red-eye,  and  tried  to  rob  a  store.  The  owner 
came  down  from  the  upstairs  where  he  lived,  and  shot 
at  Buckles,  and  the  kid  got  excited  and  shot  back,  and 
the  owner  said,  'Hello,  Gabriel.'  Life's  funny  ...  I'd 
like  to  have  you  see  Buckles.  He's  not  any  different  than 
any  other  kid  at  twenty-three.  Poor  old  Buck !  I  know  a 


294  EMMETT  LAWLER 

lot  o'  guys  like  him ;  it's  hit  or  miss,  ding  dang  if  it  ain't. 
They  got  good  all  over.  Suppose  Buckles'd  been  cockeyed, 
he'd  a  missed  the  butter  peddler,  and  maybe  got  away. 
It's  all  the  bunk." 

A  fat  salesman  got  ready  to  leave  the  train.  Spike 
and  Ravan  returned  from  the  smoking  room,  and  pres 
ently  the  red  cap  porters  carried  the  luggage  to  a  taxi 
that  started  for  the  Sherman  House. 

Spike  was  busy  explaining  about  his  boy's  defeat. 
Spike  believed  all  his  explanations,  for  ever  since  the 
night  he  had  been  chosen  as  a  second  for  Emmett,  they 
had  been  like  brothers.  In  spite  of  a  rugged  exterior, 
Spike  was  kind,  and  tried  desperately  hard  to  understand 
all  of  Emmett's  moods.  Spike  had  no  idea  of  money, 
and  used  to  ask,  "What  can  I  do  with  a  thousand  iron  men 
if  I  don't  spend  them?"  Spike  never  complained  about 
how  cruel  the  world  was  if  he  was  broke.  He  said  that 
people  broke  about  fifty-fifty  with  him.  Spike  was  flush 
now,  for  the  first  year  Emmett  had  split  the  earnings  of 
the  ring  with  him,  but  after  that  Spike  said,  "You  take 
'em  on  the  chin,  Emmett.  I  know  what  that  is,  no  man 
ager's  worth  a  fifty-fifty  split — sixty-forty  from  now  on 
— and  I  hold  my  end  up." 

Spike  had  a  room  at  the  Sherman  House,  arid  he  knew 
more  women  than  King  Solomon.  The  only  way  you 
could  tell  when  Spike  was  almost  broke  was  when  he 
had  a  wistful  expression  about  his  eyes  .  .  .  but  Emmett 
had  been  his  one  real  meal  ticket.  Spike  talked  to  him 
as  frankly  as  though  he  were  a  preliminary  fighter.  This 
showed  bravery  on  his  part — for  there  are  many  men 


A  SNAG  THAT  TORE  295 

anxious  to  manage  a  fighter  in  the  big  money.  For  so 
far — it  is  the  easiest  way  of  obtaining  money  yet  dis 
covered  by  science. 

Six  months  dragged  their  weary  length  along,  and 
Emmett  had  disappeared  from  the  haunts  of  men  who 
knew  him.  Spike  often  called  at  Vivian's  flat  on  the 
North  Side  to  ask  for  news  of  him.  Then  one  day  Spike 
heard  news  of  him,  that  the  lad  was  a  guest  of  a  fifteen- 
cent  lodging  house  on  South  State  Street.  Spike  hurried 
there,  and  beheld  the  one  time  well-dressed  fighter  with 
a  week's  growth  of  beard,  a  black  satine  shirt,  and  a 
spotted  blue  serge  suit. 

"Where  the  devil  have  you  been,  kid?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  went  with  Peary  to  the  North  Pole,  and  got 
lost  in  South  Africa.  How's  Vivian  ?" 

"She's  fine,"  answered  Spike;  "that  girl's  a  lalapolusa. 
Her  kind's  born,  not  made.  But  tell  me  about  yourself," 
urged  Spike. 

"Some  other  time,  Spike.  I've  been  to  hell  and  back, 
and  my  tongue  is  blistered.  Even  a  yap  don't  like  to  talk 
about  some  things." 

"You're  a  funny  guy,  Emmett.  Are  you  nuts,  or  is  all 
the  rest  of  the  world?  I  know  I'm  not." 

Spike  walked  with  Emmett  down  State  Street  to  Van 
Buren  where  he  gave  a  messenger  boy  a  note  and  a  two- 
dollar  bill.  As  they  walked  he  said  to  Emmett,  "I  been 
managin'  Eddie  Turner,  but  he'll  never  go  big,  an'  he's 
got  a  glass  jaw,  and  he  can't  stand  the  gaff."  At  the 
mention  of  the  glass  jaw,  Emmett  had  a  painful  memory 
of  Hot  Springs. 


296  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"Well,  the  poor  devil  can't  help  his  glass  jaw.  Even 
McGovern  saw  through  yours." 

"I  know,  I  know,  Emmett,  I  was  just  tellin'  you." 

They  went  into  the  Hub,  where  a  salesman  came  to 
meet  them.  "Measure  this  boy  here — size  forty,  I  think. 
Fit  him  up.  Here's  a  five  for  the  tailor.  A  hand-me- 
down  suit  won't  kill  him — once.  Send  the  suit  to  Room 
112,  Sherman  House.  He  likes  blue  serge — make  it  a 
French  weave." 

Emmett  walked  away  as  Spike  talked  to  the  salesman, 
and  stood  with  folded  hands,  wondering  what  to  do.  He 
was  soul  sick  and  broken,  and  the  kindness  of  Spike  was 
now  touching  him  as  kindness  had  ever  touched  him. 
He  fought  back  the  tears  that  came  to  his  blood-shot  eyes. 

Spike  had  no  modesty,  he  was  no  violet  by  a  mossy 
dell,  but  a  rag  weed,  strong  and  tough,  blowing  along  the 
roadway  of  life.  He  said  to  the  salesman: 

"That  kid  there  is  Emmett  Lawler.  He's  one  of  the 
five  best  men  of  his  weight  in  the  world.  The  world's 
damn  big.  Get  that!  His  foot  slipped  a  little,  but  I'm 
goin'  to  get  him  hobnail  shoes  now.  Every  good  guy 
near  goes  to  hell  some  time." 

The  salesman  looked,  with  the  admiration  of  weaker 
men,  following  a  ladylike  calling.  But  his  tongue  could 
find  none  but  commercial  words. 

"Do  you  wish  shirts  and  ties?"  he  asked. 

"Sure  thing — even  a  fighter  wears  a  shirt,  eh,  Emmy! 
Send  us  a  half  dozen  white  madras  shirts,  collars,  socks, 
good  ties  of  quiet  colors,  but  rich  and  classy.  Touch  me 
not's  a  bear  on  ties — shirts  size  sixteen — send  three  pairs 


A  SNAG  THAT  TORE  297 

of  shoes."  Spike  called  to  Emmett,  "Come  on,  John  L., 
we'll  beat  it  to  the  lady  barbers." 

With  hair  trimmed  and  clean  shaven,  Emmett  had  no 
sooner  arrived  at  Spike's  room  with  him  than  a  knock 
was  heard  at  the  door,  and  Vivian  entered.  She  was 
dressed  with  perfect  taste,  a  rich  black  dress,  contrasting 
with  her  white  complexion,  draped  about  her  shapely 
body.  No  word  was  said  for  a  moment  as,  overcome  with 
emotion,  the  two  climbers  from  the  streets  stood  with 
tears  in  their  eyes  and  leaned  upon  each  other's  shoulders. 
Spike  looked  out  of  the  window  and  down  into  the  busy 
street  below.  Into  his  tired,  wistful  eyes  there,  too,  came 
tears,  as  he  thought  of  what  a  devil  of  a  mess  everything 
was.  Spike  had  known  a  woman  once,  and  he  had  scat 
tered  the  world  at  her  feet — his  world,  it  was  all  he  had. 
He  fought  McGovern  the  day  she  left  him,  and  of  course 
Terry  could  not  be  bothered  because  a  bruiser  had  a  fe 
male  on  the  brain,  but  he  gave  Spike  something  else  to 
think  about,  and  a  short  sleep,  which  was  not  unkind.  But 
ah!  that  is  enough  of  the  story.  Perhaps  Spike  would 
not  wish  it  told. 

Vivian  simulated  a  show  of  bravado. 

"Now  for  the  comeback,  Emmett.  Three  of  us  will 
stick  like  glue  to  a  horse's  tail.  Ravan  is  a  prince,  Em 
mett;  he's  the  kind  of  a  guy  you'd  kill  a  king  for.  I'm 
going  to  phone  him  right  now." 

"No  more  fighting  for  me.  I  hate  the  sight  of  a 
glove  worse  than  the  devil  hates  to  think  of  the  girl  he 
left  in  heaven." 

Spike  was  back  in  the  ring  again  to  stern  realities. 


298  EMMETT  LAWLER 

"Can  that  talk;  forget  it;  you  ain't  a  weepin*  willow, 
Emmett,  it's  a  punk  tree  anyhow,  standin'  round  lookin* 
like  a  hearse.  Every  geezer  who  does  anything  at  all 
has  to  fight.  I  don't  give  a  continental  damn  what  he 
does,  either.  When  I  was  a  kid  in  England  I  sure  as 
hell  had  to  battle,  too.  But  by  thunder !  I  made  it,  and 
the  Prince  of  Wales  saw  me  fight — that's  the  bunk  I  know, 
but  you  couldn't  bore  old  Eddie  the  Seventy-seventh  with 
ham  and  egg  stuff.  Old  Ed  liked  the  best.  He  was  a 
good  duffer — he  was.  I  drank  wine  with  him." 
"Why,  Spike  Robinson!"  exclaimed  Vivian. 


EMMETT  MAKES  A  VOW 

"WELL,  it's  the  truth,  Vivian.  Ask  Emmett.  Every  time 
he  used  to  get  peeved  he'd  bawl  me  out  'cause  England 
had  trouble  with  Ireland.  I  did  all  I  could  with  Eddie 
about  it — but  it  takes  time." 

Vivian  picked  up  the  Police  Gazette  Record  Book. 
"Now,  Emmett,"  she1  said,  "I  want  you  to  swear  with 
your  right  duke  on  this  book  that  no  matter  what  comes, 
you'll  keep  in  touch  with  me,  and  try  to  come  back — part 
way,  anyhow — enough  to  get  you  on  your  feet."  Ravan 
entered  at  this  moment.  "Careful,  Ed,  quiet,  vow  about 
to  be  taken."  Emmett  placed  his  right  hand  on  the  book 
and  went  through  the  strange  formula.  "There,  that's 
over,  now  you're  under  oath,  Emmett,"  declared  Vivian 
as  she  picked  up  the  book,  saying,  "This  book's  two  years 
old,  and  it's  got  your  picture  in  it,  Emmett.  See  here, 
it  says,  'Emmett  Lawler,  lightweight.  Born  1888.'  It  says 
you're  white,  Muggins,  we  know  that,  and  it  tells  how 
tall  you  are,  and  everything."  She  turned  some  of  the 
pages,  "Gee !"  she  exclaimed,  "some  o'  the  faces  in  here's 
hard  enough  to  crack  walnuts  on,  but  they're  better  than 
a  lot  o'  sissies  at  that." 

Ravan  walked  up  to  Emmett,  and  placed  an  immense 
hairy  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "Try  to  come  back,  Em- 
tnett,  for  Vivian's  sake — and  Spike's.  I've  seen  Viv  try 

299 


300  EMMETT  LAWLER 

to  pray  for  you  late  at  night,  when  she  was  darn  sleepy, 
too.  Now  the  girl  will  swear  up  and  down  that  some 
body  answered  that  prayer." 

"I  met  Pat  O'Brien  a  few  months  ago,"  said  Spike; 
"you  know  Pat,  Emmett.  Well,  he  says  to  me,  he  says, 
If  you  find  Emmett  and  get  the  dang  kid  in  shape,  I'll 
bet  ten  thousand  on  him  ag'in  Ryan  in  a  twenty-five 
rounder.  And  we'll  hold  the  fight  in  Lima,  too.  Why 
that  damn  red-head's  Emmett  Desmond's  nephew.'  Well, 
I'll  wire  Pat  you're  here,  and  comin'  back." 

"Spike,  I  can't  come  back." 

"Apple  sauce  on  that  stuff;  you  ain't  been  away.  I 
felt  that  way  after  McGovern  tucked  me  in  bed.  And 
believe  me!  I  was  away.  Terry  tucked  hard." 

"Don't  rave,  Spike." 

"It  ain't  ravin',  you  ain't  licked  till  you  think  you  are. 
Look  at  Grant  at  Valley  Forge,  he  got  his  bumps,  didn't 
he?  Darn  near  froze  the  buttons  off  his  coat.  Had  to 
wade  the  Delaware  and  everything.  Grant  wasn't  Irish, 
either.  Hell!!!" 

"But  listen,  Spike,  don't  you  understand,  the  fighting 
is  easy,  I'm  not  afraid  of  Battling  Nelson,  and  he  knows 
it,  but  it's  something  that's  fighting  me  inside.  Please 
believe  me,  Spike." 

"It's  just  that  lucky  bump  Ryan  copped  you  on  the 
jaw,  that's  all.  He  can't  repeat,  and  I'll  bet  all  my  girls 
he  can't,  and  I  wouldn't  take  a  chance  on  losin'  my  girls. 
No  civilized  guy'd  want  to  live  without  the  girls."  A 
knock  at  the  door,  and  Spike  opened  it.  "Here's  the  junk, 
slip  into  the  bath  room,  Emmett,  and  put  'em  on."  Turn- 


EMMETT  MAKES  A  VOW  301 

ing  to  Vivian  and  Ravan,  Spike  asked,  "How's  the  billiard 
room  comin'?" 

"Just  great,"  replied  they  in  unison. 

Emmett  emerged  soon  looking  more  like  the  Emmett 
of  his  prosperous  days.  Vivian  adjusted  his  tie,  and 
said, 

"Why,  you're  all  dolled  up,  Emmett,  a  fellow  wouldn't 
know  you." 

"I  met  Ryan  in  Denver,  folks,  after  he  fought  Nelson 
in  Colorado  Springs.  He's  a  good  Wop.  He  slipped  me 
twenty-five  bucks,  and  I  told  him  I'd  pay  him  back  when 
I  fought  him  again,  and  he  told  me,  'You  no  good  no 
more,  Emmett,  no  good,  I  take  all  de  fight  out  o'  you 
in  Hot  Springs.'  I  felt  sore,  but  I  needed  the  jack." 

Spike  interviewed  the  sporting  editors  of  Chicago  pa 
pers,  and  the  next  morning  the  news  was  read  in  far  cities 
that  Emmett  Lawler  had  returned  from  a  year  of  rough 
ing  it  in  the  mountains.  "I  roughed  it  all  right,"  said 
Emmett,  "but  it  wasn't  in  the  mountains." 

Four  weeks  later  Emmett  won  a  six-round  battle  with 
Eddie  Conway  at  Lima  which  the  Cincinnati  Enquirer 
called  the  most  sensational  fight  ever  held  in  the  state. 
Men  stood  up  and  thrilled  from  the  first  round  until  the 
knockout  in  the  last.  Spike  lived  and  fought  that  battle 
also.  He  sucked  the  blood  out  of  Emmett's  nose,  so  that 
he  could  breathe  more  readily.  For  Conway  had  a  left 
hand  that  worked  with  the  deadly  precision  of  machine- 
gun  fire.  After  the  fight  the  young  gladiators  met  and 
talked  it  over,  parting  the  best  of  friends. 

Slim  Eddie  sat  close  to  the -ring,  in  the  midst  of  many 


302  EMMETT  LAWLER 

of  St.  Marys  friends.  Time  had  not  robbed  him  of  his 
passion  for  life  and  whisky.  He  hovered  near  Emmett 
during  all  his  stay  in  Lima.  He  was  never  weary  of  brag 
ging  of  his  early  friendship  for  the  boy.  After  three 
successful,  months  the  sporting  writers  were  convinced 
of  Emmett's  fitness  to  cope  with  either  Ryan  or  Nelson. 


THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE 

FROM  miles  and  miles  around  the  red  cars  carried  men 
to  Lima.  Johnny  Roods  was  there,  and  Slim  Eddie,  and 
John  Donovan.  From  the  manner  in  which  Auglaize 
County  was  represented  one  would  have  thought  that 
Lima  was  its  County  Seat.  Pat  O'Brien  and  the  wealthy 
oil  men  could  not  have  been  induced  to  leave  the  city  that 
day.  They  covered  every  Ryan  dollar  in  sight. 

"The  boy's  trained  as  fine  as  a  greyhound,"  Pat  re 
marked,  "and  by  God!  he's  Emmett  Desmond's  nephew. 
That's  enough." 

Spike  was  smilingly  confident  as  he  talked  over  details 
with  Ryan's  manager.  Old  time  fighters,  they  were  both 
wary  and  cautious  of  the  ways  of  the  ring.  As  is  the  way 
of  such  men,  they  talked  much  and  divulged  little. 

"Do  you  think  Emmett  can  stand  twenty-five  rounds 
in  front  of  Ryan?"  asked  his  manager. 

"Don't  kid  an  old  kidder,  Slippy  Regan,  you  know 
damn  well  he  can." 

"My  boy's  goin*  great  guns,  they  all  dodge  him,"  said 
Regan. 

"You  take  in  too  much  territory ;  Emmett  ain't  dodgin' 
him.  Ryan  couldn't  drop  Conway  in  six  rounds,  nor 
Nelson  either,  and  damn  well  you  know  it." 

"That  may  be,  but  he'll  cop  Emmett  in  less  than  that 
I  hate  to  see  a  good  Irish  boy  licked,  bein'  one  myself. 

303 


304  EMMETT  LAWLER 

But  business  is  business.  Ryan  can  knock  a  mule  down 
with  his  right." 

"Hell,  that's  nothin',"  returned  Spike ;  "Emmett  used  to 
train  with  a  mule.  ..." 

A  ring  was  pitched  in  front  of  the  grandstand  of  the 
ball  park,  and  seats  were  built  high  on  all  sides  of  it. 
Thousands  of  men  surged  within  when  the  gates  were 
opened.  Ohio  has  ever  been  loyal  to  her  children,  be  they 
pugilists  or  presidents.  Thousands  started  singing  to  the 
tune  of  "The  Old  Grey  Goose  is  Dead," 

"We're  from  Oh-i-o,  we're  from  O-h-i-o 
Emmy  Lawler  can  fight  o — o, 
He's  from  O-h-i-o 
Hur-rahl" 

Vivian  wired  Emmett:  "Reserve  two  seats  for  the 
Ravan  tribe,"  and  followed  the  telegram  with  her  good- 
hearted  husband. 

"Lord,  Emmett,"  said  Ravan,  "Spider  has  trained  you 
to  the  minute ;  you'll  win  the  pennant  sure." 

"Piggy"  Swartz,  the  lad  who  led  the  rebellion  against 
Krantz,  was  on  in  the  preliminary. 

Danny  McCall,  the  old-time  chainmaker  fighter,  who 
had  first  taught  Emmett  the  art  of  boxing,  assisted  Spike 
and  "Piggy"  as  seconds  for  Emmett. 

Ryan  was  the  first  to  enter  the  ring,  and  the  generous 
Ohioans  gave  him  welcome  applause. 

When  Emmett  appeared  a  prolonged  and  mighty  shout 
went  up  which  completely  drowned  out  the  noise  of 
street  cars  and  trains.  The  sun  had  just  gone  down,  and 


THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE  305 

electric  lights  turned  the  Ohio  dusk  into  day.  Twenty- 
five  lights  were  placed  behind  numbers  printed  on  glass, 
up  to  twenty-five  above  the  ring.  When  the  round  died, 
the  light  died  also,  and  in  the  wildest  excitement  men  did 
not  have  to  ask  which  round  it  was. 

Strangely  enough,  by  way  of  contrast,  as  Emmett 
waited  in  his  corner  his  mind  was  miles  away  from  the 
fight  with  Ryan, — with  Ruth  and  the  Healer,  and  then 
it  veered  around  to  Effie,  and  he  wondered  why  he  had 
never  written  her.  After  all  she  was  the  nearest  ap 
proach  to  Ruth  he  knew  in  the  world.  He  would  take 
an  auto  trip  over  Van  Wert  way  and  see  her  after  the 
fight. 

They  walked  to  the  center  of  the  ring  for  instructions, 
and  Vivian  waved  at  Emmett  as  he  looked  her  way. 
While  talking  to  the  referee  he  waved  a  gloved  hand 
back  at  her. 

"Shake  hands,  now,  boys,  and  when  the  gong  sounds, 
start  in." 

Ryan  and  Emmett  shook  hands  quickly,  each  with  a  face 
as  expressionless  as  a  Chinese  gambler.  Emmett,  in  par 
ticular,  felt  as  though  he  carried  the  hopes  of  the  audi 
ence  on  his  sturdy  shoulders.  For  the  sake  of  the  men 
who  had  faith  in  him,  and  for  the  memory  of  Emmett 
Desmond  he  would  rather  die  in  the  ring  than  be  whipped. 
Anywhere  else  but  in  Lima,  "My  God!" 

Spike  was  conscious  of  the  strain,  and  as  Emmett 
stood  in  his  corner  and  rubbed  his  slippered  feet  on  the 
resin  canvas  floor,  he  said, 

"You're  a  two-to-one  shot,  kid,  the  other  fight  was  a 


306  EMMETT  LAWLER 

fluke.  Remember  the  first  one — kid  him — tease  him — 
but  hold  your  head — don't  lead  for  three  rounds — feint 
him,  make  him  miss — tease  hell  out  of  him.  Hear  me, 
Emmett!" 

The  referee  threw  his  hands  together  as  the  gong 
sounded  "Time." 

Newspaper  reporters  from  Cleveland,  Cincinnati,  Chi 
cago  and  other  cities  sat  near  the  ring.  A  telegraph  in 
strument  clicked  near  the  ring,  and  flashed  the  report  of 
each  blow  the  second  it  was  delivered.  A  camera  was 
turned  upon  the  ring  as  Emmett  and  Ryan  walked  forth 
to  battle. 

"Now,  Ryan,  me  boy,"  said  Slippy  Regan,  "repeat  the 
trick,  remember  Hot  Springs,  finish  it  quick.  Wade  in," 

Ryan  did  as  he  was  told,  and  led  with  vicious  right  and 
left,  which  missed  by  the  fraction  of  an  inch.  Before 
he  balanced  himself,  five  rapier-like  lefts  slammed  hard 
against  his  flat  nose,  and  the  blood  flowed.  Emmett 
sneered,  and  said,  "I'm  goin'  to  kill  you  to-night,  Wop. 
Say  your  prayers  between  rounds."  And  the  clan  of 
the  Irish  yelled  wildly.  Stung  into  madness,  the  Italian 
charged,  and  fell  into  a  clinch.  "Make  him  break,  ref 
eree,  make  him  break,"  shouted  Emmett.  The  referee 
pried  them  apart,  and  in  an  instant  gloved  hands  thudded 
against  naked  bodies,  with  brain- jar  ring  force.  This  was 
the  fourth  meeting  of  the  trained  young  bruisers  whose 
names  were  known  wherever  men  talked  fight,  and  they 
anticipated  every  movement  of  each  other. 

"You'll  not  go  to  Australia  after  this  fight,  Wop.  I'll 
save  you  the  trip.  Snowy  Baker  can't  use  a  dead  man 


THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE  307 

over  there."  The  gong  ended  the  round.  Each  man  was 
showered  with  water  as  he  went  to  his  corner. 

"You  got  him  guessin',  Emmett,  hold  your  head,  for 
God's  sake,  make  him  miss,"  said  Spike.  The  gong. 

For  three  more  rounds  Emmett  made  Ryan  miss,  and 
Spike,  the  student  of  fight  psychology,  though  he  knew 
not  the  term,  sent  Emmett  out  to  carry  the  fight  into  the 
very  citadels  of  Italy.  Spike  felt  that  if  the  fight  went 
longer  than  the  Hot  Springs  fiasco,  that  it  would 
strengthen  Emmett.  "Fight  him  now,  Emmett,1  fight 
him  and  kid  him,  keep  your  left  in  his  nose,  keep  the 
blood  flowinV 

They  went  into  a  clinch,  and  had  a  furious  exchange 
near  the  ropes  above  Vivian.  She  looked  up,  and  heard 
the  fighters  mumble  to  each  other  with  pain-shriveled 
and  bleeding  features.  Their  bodies  were  red  and  raw. 
"I'll  break  your  heart  this  night.  I'm  through,  am  I," 
from  Emmett. 

"I  show  you,  damn  you,"  from  Ryan. 

As  they  came  out  of  the  clinch,  Emmett  turned  Ryan 
clear  around  with  a  right  to  the  jaw. 

"Watch  that  right,"  yelled  Slippy  Regan. 

In  the  sixth  round  they  missed  right  and  left  blows  to 
jaw  and  head  with  clock-like  rapidity.  Then  Emmett 
suddenly  slammed  two  more  lefts  to  Ryan's  bruised  nose. 
Their  heads  bumped  together  in  sheer  fury,  and  old 
wounds  were  opened  over  each  of  their  right  eyes.  Mil 
lionaires  near  the  fight  were  boys  again  watching  a  fight 
at  a  country  school.  During  a  tense  moment  a  tipsy 
voice  screamed,  "Oh,  you  red-head!" 


308  EMMETT  LAWLER 

When  Emmett  returned  to  his  corner,  the  water 
splashed  against  his  panting  breast,  as  he  fell  into  the 
chair.  "Stop  the  blood,  Spike,  if  you  have  to  burn  the 
flesh."  The  caustic  ground  into  the  raw  wound  above 
the  eye,  and  clogged  the  blood  in  its  channels. 

"You  got  two  places  bleedin*  on  him,  Emmett.  Keep 
your  left  in  at  him.  Never  let  the  blood  stop  flowin'  on 
him,  stab  his  nose."  Both  men  swung  their  shoulders 
and  the  muscles  crawled  beneath  their  skins  like  angry 
snakes. 

There  are  people  who  call  the  prize  ring  degrading. 
Be  they  right  or  wrong,  the  actual  righting  for  a  great 
stake  is  a  test  of  terrible  endurance,  and  the  keen  Roose 
velt  advocated  boxing  for  soldiers  everywhere,  and  prac 
tised  it  himself.  But  the  only  way  to  learn  the  heart 
breaking  lessons  of  the  prize  ring  is  in  being  pitted  against 
a  man  who  has  absorbed  tricks  that  can  never  be  fully 
explained.  A  deadly  knockout  is  averted  by  an  almost 
imperceptible  movement  of  the  head.  The  muscles  are 
taut  like  a  tiger's  until  the  blow  is  ready  to  be  delivered, 
and  then  become  flexible,  and  the  blow  is  delivered  with 
all  the  weight  of  the  fighter  behind  it.  If  a  sledge  weigh 
ing  one  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  and  traveling  quick  as 
a  flash,  would  hit  a  man's  jaw,  would  he  drop  ?  Pugilists 
fight  along  until  they  get  a  second  wind,  and  then,  barring 
the  luck  of  the  ring,  or  the  science  or  skill  of  their  an 
tagonist,  they  can  fight  for  hours.  The  lungs  seem  to  re 
spond  to  the  terrible  strain  placed  upon  them. 

Emmett  breathed  deeply  as  he  faced  Ryan,  and  in 
stinctively  he  knew  that  the  longed-for  second  wind  had 


THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE  309 

come.  As  they  faced  each  other,  the  referee  yelled  to  men 
near  the  ring,  "Stop  that  smokin'.  These  guys  in  here 
are  human.  How'd  you  fellows  like  to  fight  and  breathe 
smoke?" 

The  seventh,  eighth,  ninth,  tenth,  and  eleventh  round 
passed  with  the  two  battlers  struggling  like  terrible 
wound-up  automatons  to  end  the  fight.  The  emotional 
Italian  was  so  wrought  up  over  the  superhuman  grind 
that  he  lunged  desperately.  "Cry,  Wop,  and  I'll  make 
you  drink  your  tears,"  taunted  Emmett. 

The  infuriated  bruiser  sprang  at  Emmett  and  shouted, 
"You  son  of  a  b-e-etch.  I  git  you  yet." 

"You're  not  in  Hot  Springs,  Ryan,  why  the  pet  name  ?" 

Emmett  feinted  with  his  right  and  shifted  about,  and 
the  left  hand  slammed  Ryan's  bloody  nose  three  times, 
while  the  right  followed  up  and  crashed  against  his 
bleeding  eye.  They  then  traded  rights  and  left  in  the 
middle  of  the  ring,  every  blow  landed  being  hard  enough 
to  knock  an  ordinary  man  stiff  and  cold. 

Under  the  strain  of  the  fierce  mauling  they  knew  not 
their  corners  when  the  gong  sounded. 

Regan  and  Spike,  ever  alert,  jumped  into  the  ring  and 
led  them  to  their  seats.  The  referee  scolded,  but  as  each 
manager  committed  the  infringement  of  the  rules  born  of 
desperate  necessity,  he  allowed  the  fight  to  continue. 
"Piggy"  Swartz  swung  the  towel  in  front  of  Emmett,  and 
while  Spike  allowed  no  conversation  in  Emmett's  corner, 
he  alone  could  talk,  the  fluent  Swartz  blurted  out,  "You're 
fightin'  to-night,  ain't  he,  Danny?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Danny,  "Emmett's  a  red  devil  to-night." 


310  EMMETT  LAWLER 

They  exchanged  blows  in  close  and  Emmett  buried  his 
left  in  Ryan's  body.  Ryan  retaliated  with  a  left  to  the 
solar  plexus  and  followed  up  with  a  right  to  Emmett's 
jaw  before  he  could  cover.  "How  you  like  it?"  asked 
Ryan. 

"You're  losin'  your  punch,  you  can't  knock  a  fly  off 
the  wall." 

They  clinched,  Emmett  shading  Ryan,  and  made  him 
break  from  the  terrible  kidney  blows.  Ryan  weakened 
a  trifle  as  the  raw  and  bleeding  Emmett  bored  in.  Ryan 
was  against  the  ropes,  the  immense  audience  stood  up  and 
screamed  wildly.  Both  fighters  cried  under  the  strain. 
"Damn  your  Wop  heart,"  groaned  Emmett,  and  Ryan 
slugged  like  a  man  gone  mad  from  punches.  The  gong 
sounded  and  the  tired  referee  pried  them  apart.  f 

Ryan  sent  a  right  blow  to  Emmett's  jaw  and  a  wicked 
uppercut  grazed  his  chin.  He  again  jarred  Emmett  with 
a  hard  right.  It  was  nip  and  tuck,  desperate  lunge  and 
rally  one  after  another,  each  man  about  to  win  many 
times — until  the  twentieth  round. 

Men  were  not  conscious  that  strangers  sat  near  them, 
but  were  carried  away  on  a  boat  laden  with  thrills,  with 
two  mighty  young  gladiators  battling  on  the  deck.  It 
was  such  a  fight  as  men  will  remember  and  tell  their 
children's  children.  Events  are  still  dated  in  Lima  from 
the  year  of  the  Ryan-La wler  fight. 

Until  the  twenty-third  round  there  was  no  apparent  ad 
vantage.  The  fighters  were  keyed  up  to  such  a  pitch  of 
fury  that  they  fought  on  and  on,  oblivious  of  the  clanging 
gong.  Hair  dripping  wet,  perspiration  seeping  through 


THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE  311 

pores  in  bruised  and  raw  bodies,  legs  aching,  they  ever 
toed  the  scratch.  There  was  nothing  left  for  either  pugil 
ist  but  the  gong,  and  the  thud  of  padded  gloves  which 
were  heavy  and  soggy  from  water  and  blood.  When 
the  gloves  landed  now  they  made  a  squishy  sound.  A 
doctor  near  Vivian  told  her  that  human  endurance 
was  the  mightiest  thing  in  the  world.  The  bruisers 
proved  it. 

They  clinched  in  the  twenty-third  round,  and  in  the 
break-away  Emmett  smashed  Ryan's  sore  eye  with  three 
telling  blows.  He  moved  in  closer,  his  hands  criss-cross 
ing  across  Ryan's  stomach.  As  they  stood  near  the  ropes, 
sending  their  bodies  with  every  blow,  even  of  six  inches' 
length,  they  could  be  heard  to  grunt,  "Uh,  uh,  uh"  as  each 
blow  was  landed.  So  hard  did  they  try  that  the  neck 
and  shoulder  muscles  looked  as  though  they  would  snap. 
With  cut  lips,  and  firm-set  jaws,  they  lashed  each  other 
with  soggy  gloves  again  and  still  again.  The  audience 
now  sat  terribly  still  with  tense  admiration,  as  the  olive 
and  white  bodies  struggled  about  the  ring. 

A  left  from  Ryan  found  Emmett's  eye,  and  the  blood 
from  the  clogged  wound  streamed  down  across  his  face 
and  fell  upon  his  breast. 

Emmett  stopped  to  brush  it  from  his  eye. — Ryan  saw 
an  opening— and  the  end  came  like  a  clap  of  thunder  on 
a  clear  June  day.  As  quick  as  a  dazzling  flash  of  light 
ning,  his  brown  body  loosened  its  taut  muscles,  and  he 
sprang  at  Emmett — and  fought  like  a  blood-mad  tigress 
defending  her  young.  The  blows  were  so  many  and  ter 
rible  that  the  Irish  pugilist  backed  away — "My  God !  My 


312  EMMETT  LAWLER 

God,"  moaned  Spike — and  put  his  hands  over  his  eyes — 
as  if  afraid  to  witness  murder. 

Spike  looked  again  through  blurred  eyes,  and  Em- 
mett  was  still  on  his  feet — backing,  backing,  and  slowly, 
slowly  thinking,  as  only  an  Irish  fighter  can  think  in  a 
terrible  emergency.  The  olive  pugilist  before  him  was 
not  a  human  being  any  more,  but  a  fiend,  drunk  on  blood 
sent  up  from  hell. 

Emmett  gathered  his  forces — 'Pat  O'Brien  stood  up 
near  Vivian — the  vast  audience  arose  as  one  man  as  if 
about  to  witness  a  crash  of  worlds.  They  stood  in  the 
center  of  the  ring,  and  exchanged  blow  after  terrible  blow. 
Emmett  retreated  again,  his  right  hand  away  below  his 
hip.  "Send  her  home,  send  her  home,  Now,  Now, 
Now!!!"  screamed  Spike.  A  soggy  wet  glove  crashed 
through  Ryan's  defense  and  carried  oblivion  in  its  wake. 

Emmett's  hand  fell,  and  his  face  twitched  with  pain 
as  he  landed  the  blow.  But  as  his  hand  fell — the  mighty 
Ryan  fell  also.  And  before  he  fell,  another  stinging  left 
from  Emmett  helped  him  downward  in  a  neutral  corner. 

Emmett  was  now  an  Irish  setter  straining  at  the  leash. 
Spike,  afraid  of  a  foul,  yelled  out,  "Steady,  steady,  boy 
o'  mine — careful — don't  foul !" 

Ryan  started  to  rise  at  the  count  of  eight — slowly — 
slowly,  and  Emmett  thought,  "My  God!  do  I  have  to 
hit  the  game  devil  again?" 

But  visions  of  Australia  and  the  championship  faded. 
His  dazed  brain  refused  to  obey  the  dictates  of  his  cour 
age-driven  heart.  Before  his  hands  left  the  canvas,  he 
collapsed  again  and  fell  face  forward  upon  the  floor. 


THE  DAY  OF  BATTLE  313 

Ryan's  seconds  carried  him  from  the  ring,  as  limp 
as  a  fighter's  wet  towel.  Spike  and  Danny  rushed  in  the 
ring  after  Emmett,  followed  by  O'Brien  and  the  clan  of 
the  Irish.  Emmett's  curls  were  streaked  and  matted  with 
blood  and  water.  He  groaned,  "Cut  the  glove  off  the 
right  hand,  hurry,  quick!"  The  blood-soaked  glove  was 
thrown  upon  the  floor,  and  the  broken  hand  swelled  to 
twice  its  normal  size. 

"It  was  like  hitting  a  block  of  concrete/'  muttered  Em 
mett,  as  he  was  carried  to  his  dressing  room. 

The  night  was  touched  with  the  wand  of  summer  morn 
ing.  The  Pennsylvania  Station  was  crowded  with  men 
going  home  from  the  scene  of  battle.  "I  give  you  two 
months  to  live,"  said  Emmett  to  old  Slim,  "a  thousand 
dollars  worth  of  whisky,  and  then  a  long  sleep." 

"Well,  it's  worth  it,"  said  the  Infatuated  Lover. 

Just  then  Ryan  appeared,  followed  by  his  manager 
and  seconds. 

"Hello,  Blinky !"  said  Emmett ;  "here's  the  twenty-five 
you  gave  me  in  Denver." 

"T'anks,  Emmett,  I  wish  you  lots  o'  luck;  you  fight 
hard." 

"You're  not  through,  Blinky ;  you're  a  white  man,  and  a 
great  fighter." 

"Neither  of  you  fight  like  a  movie  actor,"  cut  in  Spike 
Robinson. 

The  two  antagonists  parted,  bidding  each  other  good 
luck. 


TWO  FRIENDS  MEET 

"WELL,"  said  Emmett,  as  the  train  pulled  in,  "I  think 
111  leave  you  three  about  forty  miles  down  the  line.  I 
want  to  visit  a  girl  near  Van  Wert  I  used  to  know." 
They  seated  themselves  in  the  observation  car  of  the 
Chicago  Limited. 

As  the  train  left  the  station,  Emmett  sat  for  some  mo 
ments  gazing  across  the  car  in  an  interested  manner.  A 
young  woman  was  seated  across  from  him.  As  she  turned 
to  the  man  beside  her,  she  smiled,  showing  even,  white 
teeth.  "Who  was  she?"  thought  Emmett.  Her  pretty 
face  was  familiar.  It  couldn't  be  the  Circus  Owner's 
wife.  Evidently  the  young  woman  had  been  wondering 
who  he  was,  for  she  arose  and  came  toward  him,  hesi 
tatingly.  Her  eyes  sparkled,  as  she  asked. 

"Can  this  be  Emmett  Lawler?"  The  voice  dipped  into 
the  well  of  memory. 

"Yes,"  replied  Emmett  as  he  arose,  "and  you're  Effie 
Ramsay,  aren't  you?" 

The  sweet  voice  hit  Emmett  harder  than  ever  Ryan 
had.  "Well,"  she  hesitated  a  brief  moment,  "I'm  Effie 
Ramsay  Dix  now,"  then  turning  to  the  young  man  she 
said,  "Will,  come  here.  I  want  you  to  meet  Emmett 
Lawler.  You've  heard  me  speak  of  him." 

314 


TWO  FRIENDS  MEET  315 

Effie  and  her  husband  left  the  train  at  Van  Wert.  Then 
Vivian  chaffed,  "Why,  Emmett,  I  thought  you  were  going 
to  visit  a  girl  near  here."  He  sat  silent  for  a  moment, 
while  the  train  whistled  into  the  country.  He  gazed 
across  the  green  and  gold  Ohio  fields,  then  turning  to 
Vivian,  he  sighed,  "No,  old  pal,  I've  changed  my  mind." 

Vivian  heard  the  sigh,  and  noticed  the  broken  look  on 
the  young  struggler's  face. 

"You  know,  Emmett,  it's  the  last  punch  that  wins  the 
fight." 

"Yes,"  replied  Emmett,  "if  the  punch  is  hard  enough." 


THE  END 


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